<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Hydra’s Spider by Un1ty</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448748">Hydra’s Spider</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Un1ty/pseuds/Un1ty'>Un1ty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ben Parker Dies, Crime Fighting, Evil Scientists - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Good versus Evil, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter Parker, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) Dies, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Minor Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Harry Osborn, Protective Peter Parker, Science Experiments, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:09:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Un1ty/pseuds/Un1ty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As Peter’s consciousness sobered up, he was beginning to notice the distant ache in his arm more and more. His brows connected in a frown and he moved his arm around for him to see, only for the view to make his heart drop down a cliff.</p><p>Near the center of his wrist were three boxy letters tattooed into his skin: 019.</p><p>—</p><p>Peter is taken by HYDRA and is forced to undergo and survive in the hostile environment of painful experiments and difficult missions. For every day that passes he loses part of himself, that is until she comes along. A little girl, and she calls herself Morgan. Together, will they be able to escape? All he knows is that he will do anything to protect her, anything.</p><p>*UPDATES: At least once a week.* I suck at summaries so hopefully this is a bit more exciting to read than it seems... It’s all about the development, guys!!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Osborn &amp; Peter Parker, Michelle Jones &amp; Harry Osborn, Michelle Jones &amp; Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds &amp; Peter Parker, Peter Parker &amp; Avengers Team, Peter Parker &amp; Gwen Stacy, Peter Parker &amp; Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker &amp; Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker &amp; Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker &amp; Original Male Character(s), Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>236</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If this work seems a little familiar, you might know it from ‘Faint Light in the Dark’ which is what it used to be called before I reposted it due to some technical problems. Super cliché, I know, I know. Anyway, buckle in for a wild ride!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s3">PROLOGUE</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><strong>OCTOBER 3RD, QUEENS</strong>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><strong>IT</strong> <strong>RAINED</strong></span>
  <span class="s2"> the night they killed the boy’s last remains of a family.  </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The weather came before they did, the waterdrops arriving almost like an omen. He knew from the second he walked up to the apartment and felt his Spidey Sense throb wildly at the back of his skull, that something was horribly, horribly wrong. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He remembered his senses going haywire: yelling for him to run the other direction and flee from the scene. Still, he opened the door. Never would he know that it was going to become the move he was going to regret the most.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The rest of the memory was foggy. Flashes of loud noises, angry voices. His aunt’s cries. He remembered sneaking, trying to address the situation, his heart pounding hard in his chest. His clothes soaking wet from running home from the subway in hammering rain.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He remembered fighting. Heavy, dreadful footsteps. Pain, he remembered how his head suddenly hurt. The dizziness. A crash, a thump, guns pointed at him before he kicked them out of grips. How he dodged. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It was chaos. It had only been mere months since he had been bitten by a radioactive spider and gotten his powers, so he had barely had the time to teach himself how to throw some good punches. Though there was no doubt he was strong. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">There were five, six soldiers, dressed black to the bone. Maybe more. </span> <em><span class="s3">Most</span> <span class="s3">likely</span></em> <span class="s2"> more. As he was too busy trying to knock them out, he had no time to count how many they were. But hell, they fought good. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Heavy machinery guns. A man and a woman stood out, dressed far more formally in the midst of it all. Neither of them looked menacing, but not particularly kind either. Around ten people in total.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“That’s </span> <span class="s3"><em>enough</em>.</span><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He remembered how his heart had dropped, and the fear that had shivered down his spine when he turned to see the gray-haired woman pointing a gun at his dear aunt. She was tied. Unable to speak. Crying, his uncle too.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Stop resisting, </span> <span class="s3"><em>Spider-Man</em></span><span class="s2">,” she had said. Peter could only watch the utter emotion of surprise, yet disappointment, mix with sadness on his family’s faces. This was not how he had imagined they would find out. Not at all.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The way the room had spun in front of him was unforgettable. There had been an ocean of nausea before his eyes, shock in his bones. He wanted so desperately to wake up from the nightmare, but he was stuck, frozen in place with his feet tied to the ground like roots. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“That’s right,” the woman had continued. Peter knew already then that he didn’t like her, and it wasn’t only because she was still pointing a gun at his aunt’s skull. She spoke in such a calm yet cold tone that made him utterly sick to his stomach. “We know who you are— and you, </span> <span class="s3"><em>Peter</em></span><span class="s2">, are coming with us.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter had felt so lost, so trapped, unsure of what to do or say. He didn’t want to be there.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He had hesitantly met her eyes. “Look. I don’t know what you </span> <span class="s3"><em>think</em> </span> <span class="s2">you know, but you’ve got the wrong guy,” he had tried, hopeful in his own words.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The woman had laughed at that. It was a gut-wrenching laugh that made his blood run cold, yet he let out short chuckle to appear more convincing. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter played along with the lie. “Yeah. It’s funny. You must’ve made some sort of mistake.” There was a short pause. “But, I mean... I’d gladly help you with anything else if you could just be so kind and let my aunt and uncle go. And, you know… put down the guns. I would appreciate that.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Listen,” The strange man in the room had suddenly and impatiently spoken up, his voice cool. Peter took in his features: his tailored suit, how he carried his tall height with easy self assurance, and his hair which was streaked with gray— the haircut obviously expensive. He couldn’t be older than in his mid 40’s. His gray eyes held a basic wariness as he signaled for the woman to lower the gun, then cautiously approaching Peter. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Despite that Peter was tall too, the man crouched down in front of him. Peter had considered taking up the fight again, but there were too many soldiers, too many guns pointing at him and his poor, innocent family. Fuck, they didn’t deserve to be in this situation. He couldn’t risk his aunt May’s- or his uncle Ben’s life; however his deep eyes couldn’t hide the horror that was festering inside of him like a black hole.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m sorry it has come to this... but don’t make it any harder than it needs to be, son.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Peter swallowed hard. So they </span> <span class="s3"><em>knew.</em></span><span class="s2"> There was no point in trying to convince them otherwise. They really knew.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He had looked at his last remaining family members with a broken glance, his aunt May and uncle Ben who had taken him under their wing after his parents’ death. The two people who had raised him like their own son. They had done nothing but good to him, and now they were being paid by it like this. They were being taken away from him, he taken away from them. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It was unfair. It was his fault— not their.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When he felt the man’s hand on his shoulder and onto the back of his head, Peter grunted, and, now officially in a state of panic, flinched away and made a run for the the nearest exit. It was an entirely vain attempt to free himself, he knew, but he had wanted to call someone, maybe the police, or even Ned or Harry. MJ. He needed someone to help him. He needed to get out, he needed to free his family.  </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">What else could he do in such a situation? These... </span> <em><span class="s3">people </span></em> <span class="s2">wanted him, for a reason that was unknown to him then. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The two soldiers blocking the door stepped forward and prepared themselves for impact, but Peter had been quicker and pushed them hard into the wall, sending them flying through it and into the bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em><span class="s3">Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout- </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly there had been a sharp pain in his back launching itself through his muscles, sending him propelling to the ground. It had only been a matter of seconds before the 15-year old teenager was crumpling on the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A pair of soldiers came to lift him up, but Peter had lost it. He snarled like a wild animal and tried desperately to get out of their strong grip on his arms. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Let me </span> <span class="s3"><em>go</em></span><span class="s2">! Let me go, you-… you… ” It was for no use. The world around him was fading. His eyelids were suddenly so heavy and sounds overlapping one another. That was when he realized his body was no longer responding, that he had been sedated, and reality hit him like a brick. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man’s face was suddenly in his suddenly cloudy vision again. “You’re apart of something bigger than yourself now, son. Don’t fight it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When the man turned away, the two soldiers half-carried, half-dragged him out of the house. Next came the sound of two gunshots cracking through the frozen air, and his heart sank into a dark abyss knowing he would never see his aunt and uncle again. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. PART I: Unwilling Victim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Around the shadows creep</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Just wanna lay me down and finally</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Try to get some sleep</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">We carry on through the storm</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Gotta remember what we're fighting for</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="u"> <span class="s2">PART I</span> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s4">PRESENT TIME</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong> <span class="s5">DAY 1 | 8.42 a.m.</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s5"><strong>WITH</strong> <strong>A</strong></span> <span class="s2"> sharp gasp of air, Peter’s eyes shot wide open.</span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He squinted and tried to bring a surprisingly heavy arm up to shield himself from the bright, unwelcoming light that shone from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Struggling to comprehend where he was, he pressed shaking fingers to the ache in his temples. His hair was sweat slicked; dark brown strands clinging to his forehead. His gaze, bloodshot and blurry. He looked awful and he felt it too.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">In an attempt to stand up, he rolled down from the rock-hard bed in the center of the room and onto the freezing, concrete floor. He whimpered involuntarily as pulsing pain kicked in without a warning. A wave of nausea flowed through his body. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">As Peter’s consciousness sobered up, the distant ache in his arm came to his realization. His brows connected in a frown and he moved his arm around for him to see, only for the view to make his heart drop down a cliff. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Near the center of his wrist were three boxy letters tattooed into his skin: 019. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He brushed his fingers over the black ink birthed into his forearm, feeling his breaths pick up again. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2"><em>019?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s2">What did it mean? </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It was then Peter realized he was wearing no ordinary clothes, that he was wearing gray sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt with a logo he didn’t recognize— that his own clothes were gone.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The teenager released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t possibly happening. The thought of a stranger stripping him naked made him sick. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Trying to convince himself that this was all a dream, he scanned his surroundings with dilated pupils. Alone. In a sparse room devoid of color, the only thing between the four solid, white stone walls a single bed with a thin blanket. Sterile and cold. No windows. Complete silence and isolation.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Questions began to swirl through his mind. How long had he been out? No— how long had he been in this place? Why and how the hell had he gotten here? </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s3"> <em>Where</em> </span> <span class="s2"> was he?</span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Noticing the camera in the far corner of the room, the teen stumbled to his bare feet to inspect it further. He was being watched, he knew it, no matter how paranoid it sounded. Someone was following along with his actions. But </span> <em> <span class="s3">why?</span> </em></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Apprehension tightening his chest, he looked around with wild eyes and quickly made his way for the closest door to him. He gripped for the handle and yanked the door open, only for it to show an awfully small, dark, unfriendly bathroom; there was only a steel toilet and a sink. He had hoped it would be a way out of this room, this </span> <span class="s3"> <em>cell,</em></span><span class="s2"> because he needed answers. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His throat felt like sandpaper and begged for water, so without much reluctance he approached the sink, though every step was a trial in itself. Even nights after being out as Spider-Man, Peter couldn’t remember his muscles feeling so stiff. Simply putting one feet in front of the other hurt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">After gulping down what felt like gallons of water, he realized there was another door in the room, and silvers of hope wrapped around his heart. On the wall furthest away from him, there was <em>another </em></span> <span class="s3"> <em>door</em></span><span class="s2">. A slightly bigger, metal exit; another chance to break free.</span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">As there was no handle on the strange door, he gripped the iron bar on it, attempting to push it open, but it was locked. He pressed his shoulder on the door without hesitation and battered it with all his strength, but it stood intact as if nothing had happened. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">With an exhausted sigh, he slowly stepped back next to the bed. </span> <span class="s3"><em>Here goes nothing,</em> </span> <span class="s2">he thought, before giving it one last try and launching himself into the door. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It flew open, unleashing itself from the frame and diving for the floor on the other side, Peter with it. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Sound that had previously been completely cut off erupted around the teenager. They were mostly voices but also the humming of machinery and computers in the distance.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">He found himself in a the middle of a wide, long corridor, one that reminded him awfully a lot of </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Star Trek</em></span><span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Whatever could light up, lit up. It was cold and bright and unbelievably modern, with nice wooden brown, gray and cold blue tones. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It looked like a mix between an underground hospital and a highly advanced military base. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter then realized the men and women (some sort of scientists or doctors, Peter assumed by their lab coats) that were originally passing by, had stopped to stare at him with expressions he couldn’t quite make. Was it fear? Shock? </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Confusion crossed his face, because he could not make out why they were looking at him like that. Were they the ones who put him in that room— the room he just escaped?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s2">“</span><span class="s3">Hey!</span><span class="s2">” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter startled at the sudden outburst of a loud shout behind him. It only took him seconds to realize they were meant for him. Suddenly heavy shoes hammered against the solid floor, the sounds getting louder and louder for each millisecond that passed.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It was then he knew he hadn’t quite escaped just yet.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He scrambled to his feet and made a desperate attempt to flee. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, the pain and exhaustion he had felt earlier seemed like a mere joke.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s2">“</span><span class="s3">Stop that boy!</span><span class="s2">”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They kept shouting, but Peter kept going. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He was getting out of here. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">He had no clue where he was, if he even still was in Queens, let alone the state, or if there was a possibility of escaping such a facility… but he was doing it. He was escaping </span> <span class="s3"><em>God</em> <em>knows</em> </span> <span class="s2">what they were doing here, what they needed him for. Because why else would they keep him alive… when they had </span> <span class="s3"><em>killed</em> </span> <span class="s2">his family? </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly memories came flooding back. The struggle and desperation. A tall man, a woman pointing a gun at his aunt’s skull. Guards with their official-looking black uniforms and heavy armor, their huge guns. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2"><em>The gunshots</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s3"> <em>No</em></span><span class="s2">, Peter shook his head, desperate to keep his head clear so he could focus on what was important right now. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Stop. I can’t think of this right now.</em> </span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">He was getting out of here, through one identical corridor through the next, running like his life depended on it, because it </span> <span class="s3"><em>did</em>. </span><span class="s2">He was going </span> <span class="s3"> <em>home</em></span><span class="s2">, home to Queens, home to his friends and family the family he didn’t have he was alone because aunt May and uncle Ben were </span> <span class="s3"> <em>dead and it was his fault his fault his fault— </em> </span> </p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Losing all control and spiraling into his own thoughts of madness, Peter fell and tripped; his body propelled to the white concrete with his head first. Clumsily standing back up with what little determination he had left, the boy managed to run through an awfully modern entrance and into what looked like an examination room as darkness threatened to take him. </span> <span class="s2">He wanted to web the doorway shut, but as he held up an hand to do so he realized his webshooters were gone. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he sank down the far wall, because it was his fault he was stuck here. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly it all made sense. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It was his fault his family was dead. The simple fact struck him like a spear through his chest. Aunt May and uncle Ben, torn away from the world, all because of him and his terribly selfish, stupid choices. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">He felt empty. From the tip of his fingers to the tip of his toes, he felt </span> <span class="s3"> <em>numb</em></span><span class="s2">.</span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He needed to rip off his skin and bury the feelings inside of him deeper, somewhere they could never be found. He had no idea that his thoughts, his mind, could break him down so quickly in a matter of mere seconds. He wanted to forget, to never even know. He wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare, but every time he pinched his skin he was reminded that this was the reality he had never thought would come.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He had lost everybody. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His entire family. His mother, his father, and now his uncle and aunt. He was the last of the Parkers, and he was only fifteen. His life had just begun. Aunt May had always been there for Peter, she had been more of a mother to him than Mary Fitzpatrick-Parker had ever been. Uncle Ben had taught him everything Richard Parker hadn’t been there for him to teach. Even when they died, there had been a certain comfort in knowing that his aunt and uncle would always stick around, that they were just too stubborn to die, or so it seemed.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Now they would never get to see him graduate from the college he always rambled about, or see him fail so miserably at love. They would never see him prove successful at a career in science. Never again would uncle Ben give him words of wisdom as if he was some big Greek philosopher, yet that would make him steer clearly at life’s path. Never again would aunt May create another batch of wheatcakes that would be shared between the three of them. Now they were gone forever.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">And it was his fault. He could have saved them. But he didn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">This was on him, and he knew it.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">And just like that, he allowed the black hole tearing at his insides to grow bigger and bigger. This was really happening. There was nothing he could do, so he remained on the floor. Numb. Barely alive, barely breathing. He couldn’t stand, he was falling through the floor, slowly slipping away from the world. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He couldn’t escape because he deserved to be here. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter didn’t really grasp what was being said. There were voices around him and shadows of tall figures looming over his small, crumpled body on the ice cold floor. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Eventually someone crouched down before him, but he couldn’t find the strength to look away from the concrete tiles. Instead a hand gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet the person’s eyes. He could only meet them as all bravery he had felt earlier was replaced with an overwhelming sense of submission: not because he was giving in already, but because grief had rooted in him, squeezing at his heavy heart.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">The gray eyes belonged to a man Peter recognized from yesterday. His snow-streaked hair, his expensive dark suit— obviously a man of authority at this place. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Someone who calls the shots, but has never gotten their hands dirty</em></span><span class="s2">, he concluded by the softness of the grip. </span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Peter wasn’t sure what to make of him. Here, studying him with an expression Peter couldn’t quite make out, one hand gently stroking his back, the man seemed </span> <span class="s3"> <em>kind. </em></span><span class="s2">Kind, unlike the woman who had threatened to shoot his aunt. However, he had a feeling that might change, that the truth would soon be uncovered. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">After all, a kind man wouldn’t work at such a place, would he? </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">A kind man wouldn’t steal a boy from his parents and imprison him, tattoo a number into his arm and take away all of his belongings, his identity.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Please…” He began in a whisper, his voice strained from disuse. “Please… let me go. Just… just let me go.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man furrowed his brows at Peter’s words. It was obvious he saw the boy as no threat to himself, but the guards? The complete opposite, despite how small and vulnerable the teen felt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“Just… </span> <span class="s3"> <em>let me go.</em></span><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">He swallowed hard, each breath a struggle in itself. He hated himself for being so </span> <span class="s3"><em>weak</em>,</span> <span class="s2"> letting himself be captured like this, how he remained on the floor instead of running away or fighting for his freedom. A coward was what he was. But he </span> <span class="s3"><em>deserved</em> </span> <span class="s2">it, didn’t he? He couldn’t bring himself to move. He wanted to get away.</span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You killed them,” Peter breathed. His own words clenched at his chest and he had to blink away the tears threatening to overfill his eyes. “It may not have been you who pulled the trigger, but you still killed them… didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">A sudden rage blossomed inside him, sparking inside of his body and lighting up a raging fire. The heavy hole inside of him was being filled with pure anger and frustration. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Son… we only did what was necessary.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“</span><span class="s3"><em>Necessary?</em></span><span class="s2">” Peter scoffed. “H-how.. </span> <span class="s3">how?</span><span class="s2">”  </span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">What came next was something Peter could never have predicted. The man’s voice turned cool, his eyes icy. “You’re a mutant, </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Nineteen</em></span><span class="s2"><em>.</em>” </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His jaws dropped at the nickname. Nineteen? His name was Peter. It was his. His parents had given it to him. It was one of the few things he had left.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Regardless of how you received your gift, whether you were born with it or not, it is here you’re meant to be,” The man continued. “We are on the brink of one of the the greatest scientific discoveries in the history of mankind.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">There was a short pause. Peter could only stare as he spoke, his eyes drilling into the man’s cold pair.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“And you, Nineteen, will play a vital role in our breakthrough. I see you are… less than </span> <span class="s3"><em>thrilled</em> </span> <span class="s2">about this, but you’ll soon realize just how important this is for all of humanity.” </span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Peter gulped, anxiety tightening his throat. His Spidey Sense was throbbing hard at the back of his skull: </span> <em> <span class="s3">danger danger danger danger.</span> </em></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“It’s not fair… Where’s my choice in this?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Look, you’re just a kid. And I know you’re obviously really bright. But you’re going to have to accept the loss of things and realize that certain matters are bigger than yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man stood back up and Peter remembered then just how tall he was. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">It wasn’t right. </span> <span class="s3"><em>Nothing</em> </span> <span class="s2">of this was right. It had evil written all over it, Peter knew it; he had seen enough sci-fi movies to know so. The only question that was drifting through his mind was why; why on Earth did they need </span> <span class="s3"><em>exactly</em> </span> <span class="s2">him? He knew he wasn't the only mutant on the globe. Was his luck really that bad? Was Spider-Man to blame because of this? </span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“You know,” He began. He sniffled. “I’d like to try seeing things from your perspective, but I honestly </span> <em> <span class="s3">cannot get my head that far up my ass.</span></em><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">At Peter’s, - or rather Spider-Man’s, - daring, spitting words, the man only stared at him with an unreadable face for a long time before letting his head fall into his hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Get him up,” was all he said, his voice barely more than a tired whisper.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">In an instant, one of the guards surrounding him pulled him to his feet by the back of his shirt. Gripped by a surge of panic, Peter jerked away, ignoring the fact that he was being held at gunpoint. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It was now or never. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He didn’t hesitate. Swinging his elbow backward in the face of the guard behind him and just as he kicked the knee of the one in the front, he took two of the bad guys out in a rather rapid succession. Both fell to the ground, stunned, but recovered quickly. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He dodged as a female guard went for him, pushing her into the far wall, the concrete wall breaking at impact. He jumped to the wall and nearly pushed himself off it with his feet and great force, colliding his fist with another guard’s nose. The nose cracked broken and he had to wince. This was what he knew, the only thing that was familiar anymore. Spider-Man. Fighting crime. Violence. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly there was a gun pointed directly at the back of his skull. Peter didn’t waste a second. He reached for the weapon and moved its mouth to point at the ceiling, but the man brought it around and smashed it into the side of his head. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Stumbling back as pain exploded in his head and bile came halfway up his throat, he held on to the wall, trying his very best not to black out. Losing track of his surroundings, he was, before he even knew it, crumpled to his knees, then flat onto his stomach. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3"> <em>Come on, Parker. You’re stronger than this. You have to get outta here, find aunt May and uncle Ben.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter put his hands under him to get up, but a sudden sharp pain exploded in his back, coursing through his veins like bullets. It was far more than just a slight tingle that ran underneath his skin. No, it was as if someone had attached a live wire to each of his nerves, and his body convulsed as the violent electrical current pulsed through him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">His body twitched uncomfortably as he attempted to roll onto his side and remove the thing that was causing him such great pain; he had to bite his lip not to cry. But his body didn’t seem to be responding to his brain and he had to let out an involuntary whimper. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Fuck</em></span><span class="s2">. He was absolutely </span> <span class="s3"> <em>fucked</em></span><span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Two guards held his entire weight up, his legs trailing behind and far too shocked to move. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Through his foggy vision, he saw the man in the suit staring at him with crossed arms, before turning around and walking further down the hallway. The group of guards followed him, Peter held and dragged firmly by his arms between two male guards. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter sat in a strange chair when his consciousness sobered up. The chair’s various built-in instruments pressed into his legs and back. Wireless sensors were attached to his temples, neck, wrists, arms, shoulders and chest.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">His gaze drifted from the console next to him that beeped and chirped as it collected data, to the solid restraints that were strapping his arms to the chair. </span> <em> <span class="s3">Ah</span><span class="s2">. Restraints. </span> <span class="s3">Awesome</span><span class="s2">. </span> </em></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Ain’t this just peachy keen…” The teen muttered to himself, his voice coming out surprisingly slurred from the pain that had thankfully nearly faded now. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">These people were really starting to get on his nerves. He tugged on the restraints, a wave of panic surging through him at the realization of the fact that even his super strength couldn’t get through it. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The man in the suit who sat in the chair barely a meter away from him, fiddling with some stuff Peter couldn’t see properly, seemed to have noticed his awakening.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’m sorry, Nineteen,” he said. Peter looked at him through a blurry gaze. He had to frown at how sympathetic the man suddenly sounded. “I would’ve waited a little longer before even considering this… but it seems we no longer have a choice,” he continued.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Normally we would have given you some time to readjust. I was hoping you would take your new name voluntarily, like so many others have.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3"> <em>There were others?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“But this… this is a shortcut. A way to speed things up. It’s going to save us for a bunch of unnecessary trouble.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When the man revealed the item in his hand, fear began to tug at his guts, churning his stomach in tense cramps. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">It was like out of a </span> <span class="s3"><em>Star</em> <em>Wars</em> </span> <span class="s2">movie: The item reminded him awfully much about Han Solo’s blaster. It looked like a mix between a futuristic gun, (although it wasn’t) and a strangely put-together shot. Through the technological tool’s “window” he could see a tiny piece of silver. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3"> <em>What the hell is that? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Suddenly the man leaned toward him with it, and as a reflex he began to pull helplessly on the restraints like a wild animal, anything to get away. But nothing worked. Much to the amused guard by the far wall of the room, he was really </span> <span class="s3"> <em>stuck</em></span><span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Hey hey hey— what’re you doing with that?” His heart was beating so hard and so fast for a moment he thought it would explode. His senses were going crazy he could barely think. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Relax, Nineteen. It’s a pain stimulator,” The older man said. “What it’s gonna do to you solemnly depends on your cooperation. Don’t worry, you’ll flush it out of your system in no time. Now, sit still.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The needle piercing through his neck was far by not as bad as he had first thought. However, when sharp pain abruptly exploded in his neck and he felt something literally dig into his veins, he couldn’t help but let out a pathetic cry. But just as quickly as the pain had come, it disappeared. The teenager exhaled a couple of shaky breaths.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Now...” The tool was put back on the table. “... All you need to do is tell me your name.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">He gave a heavy sigh, having some idea of what was wanted of him. “Peter,” he said, because if it was one thing he was, it was </span> <span class="s3">stubborn</span> <span class="s2">. He was not going to give up before he was out of this place.</span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">The man gave Peter a disappointed look before he turned to a woman in a lab coat and spoke two words: “</span> <em> <span class="s3">Do it.</span> </em> <span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Do what?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">If he thought the pain he had felt earlier was bad, this was a million times worse. Fiery tempest spread in his body like nothing he had ever experienced before. The agony lanced through his muscle, from the tip of his fingers to the tip of his toes. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His head fell back and he had to bite down a weak scream. Colors flashed before his eyes and bullets of rain from ragged black clouds came pouring down on him with absolute brutality.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It hurt. It hurt <em>bad</em>. He could no longer hear his rapid breathing nor feel the oxygen flooding quickly in and out of his lungs. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Oh. That.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When the hurt finally came to an end, his head fell forward as he panted like a tired dog, sweat already draining his forehead. “Woah! That was… refreshing.” He laughed weakly at his own joke. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I tried to tell you, I'm not playing any games here. We are wasting time, time we cannot afford to lose. Now, I’ll ask you again, what is your name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">He glared at the man for a moment. “Why don’t </span> <span class="s3"><em>you</em> </span> <span class="s2">tell me </span> <span class="s3"><em>your</em> </span> <span class="s2">name?” He spit back. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Up until this moment, Peter hadn’t known what to make of the man. He could only surmise he was some sort of doctor, but their last encounters and the amount of respect his workers had for him indicated something else. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">His best guess was some sort of leader-like position. There was a noticeable difference between him, the woman from yesterday and the other people around here, that was for sure. Besides, no one else dressed so formally. He had yet to learn his name and might as well do so now— people only seemed to refer to him as </span> <span class="s3">‘<em>sir</em></span><span class="s2">.’ </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“My name is Dr. Randall Graves. I am the Assistant Director of Operations at this facility.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Peter didn’t know what he had expected. Something like </span> <span class="s3">“<em>Ask me that one more time and I’ll electrify you again</em>,” </span> <span class="s2">maybe, but surely not the truth. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Ah.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to respond with. “I’m Peter, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” It was as sarcastic, of course. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“It’s time for you to start taking this seriously, Nineteen. Nothing of this is a bluff,” Dr. Graves said, his patience running low though his demeanor surprisingly enough still was wrapped in calmness. “It is important for everyone that you accept your new name. I only want what’s best for you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter nodded, though he couldn’t quite wipe off the amused smirk on his face. “Right… You start calling me by my actual name, I think we can agree on a few things.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nineteen—“ </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“<em>No!</em>” He cut in, anger burning from within him. “Stop calling me that!” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He was more than just a two-number digit. He was Peter. He was not giving in to this, they were not going to break him so easily.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">There was a moment of complete silence, the only noise filling the room being the low hum of the machinery and the beeping monitors. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves rose from the chair and crossed his arms on his chest. Peter watched as he paced around the room before stopping and turning back to Peter. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What is your name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">His voice came out stern, drained from all life. Only cold. Only darkness.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The boy sighed. “Peter.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Pain exploded like a bomb in his entire being and he had to grit his teeth in agony. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What’s your name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Okay, okay!” He quickly said under heavy exhales. He wasn’t stupid— he could only pretend. “My name is Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t believe you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter let out a strangled yell as the hurt returned. Blood welled into his throat from the tongue he had just bitten through in vain attempt to keep quiet.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3"> <em>Peter, Peter, Peter. My name is Peter.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What is your name, son?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nineteen!” He leaned over to spit crimson on the floor. “My name is Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Again.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Dr. Graves hadn’t been speaking to him. The pain came back, ten times worse, ten times faster. Black mists swirled at the edges of his vision and he passed out. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">When Peter came to again and his surroundings became clear. He blinked a couple of times but had to groan at the words that filled the room.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What’s your name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“Oh, </span><span class="s3"><em>come</em></span> <span class="s3"><em>on</em>.</span><span class="s2">” Tears began to fill his reddened eyes but he continued to tell himself to stay strong, to get through this. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’ll ask you again, son. What’s your name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em><span class="s3">Peter</span><span class="s2">. </span><span class="s3">Peter.</span> <span class="s3">I have to remember my name is Peter.</span></em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nineteen! It’s... it’s Nineteen.” He gripped at the chair, the metal crumpling under his very fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Have you ever had any other names?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He must have hesitated, because the all-too familiar agony returned and the next five seconds were the longest of his life. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What is your name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“Nineteen!” His voice was hoarse and strained from the blood and the pain. “Please just </span> <span class="s3"> <em>stop</em></span><span class="s2">.” </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He bit down a scream as the burning sensation returned, feeling like his insides were being ripped out over and over and over. Darkness danced at the corners of his vision and he was out again.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What is your name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Peter, Peter… </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nineteen...” He slurred. The boy had been through so much pain for the last hour that his complexion was ashen. His natural golden skin had turned into something so pale and lifeless, his hair soaked in sweat and blood dripping from his mouth. His head hung low as he breathed heavily, all frustration he had felt earlier replaced by nothing but pure fear and exhaust.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Have you had any other names?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No,” Peter said, panting. “Only  Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t want you to forget.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Please…” he whimpered.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s2">Pe- Nineteen.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It felt almost as if something was slipping away from his mind. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Nineteen.” Peter could barely speak. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Has anyone ever called you another name?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3"> <em>My name is only Nineteen. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No. Only Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He grit his teeth and yelled out as the agony returned. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Will you ever forget your name?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No. My name is Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s3">Nineteen, Nineteen, Nineteen. My name is Nineteen. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Will you ever use another?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No... My name is Nineteen, only Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Good. Then I’ll give you one last reminder.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No,” He desperately shook his head, but it was for no use.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Many hours later, the teen was laying on the rock-hard bed in the center of an identical small room, bleary-eyed and dirty as he stared at the ceiling. He had run out of tears, his body so lifeless; it felt like it was asleep, only his mind awake. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured Dr. Graves staring at him with the same, emotionless look as he inflicted the pain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s3">I’ll never forget</span> <span class="s2">, he told himself, repeating the familiar phrase in his mind. Though something felt different, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3"> <em>My name is Nineteen. I have to remember my name is Nineteen. I have to remember. </em> </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Masked Vigilante</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <strong> <span class="s3">DAY 6 | 02:53 p.m.</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <strong> <span class="s3">SIX DAYS</span><span class="s2">. </span> </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">For almost six days he had been stuck in this place. For six days he had been put in that damn chair, over and over and over, for several hours a day. And for what? His memories were slipping, he knew it; yet how desperate he was to hold onto them.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His body burned. Needles, knives, electric shock, it had seen it all, but never so much and never as violently as now.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">How long had he been here, anyway? He had counted days, but it might have been weeks. Hours? He didn’t know, but liked to believe it would take more to reduce him to the mess he was now. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen threw the tennis ball against the wall and let it bounce off the floor once before he took it. Apart from his clothes and tattoo, the ball was the only thing they had given him. Even such a simple item was the only thing keeping him from losing his sanity.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The teen started gasping in breaths and tried to remember something, anything, a memory, a name, but his mind was completely blank. There were bits and pieces he couldn’t put together, nothing but a two-siffered number—</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><em>Nineteen</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It was his. It was him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Yet it felt so foreign.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With frustration bubbling up his throat, Nineteen threw the ball hard at the far wall. It bounced around in the room, going up and down and from side to side before its movements slowly died out, just as his own anger.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He let out a shaky breath. Leaned his head against the wall when a tear threatened to spill from the corner of his eye.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was stuck here. The three boxy letters on his forearm reminded him of what he actually was: a prisoner. Though he longed for another life, something other than this, he knew he was meant to remain, he was truly nothing more than a mere lab rat. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His attention snapped elsewhere when there came a loud buzz and the door suddenly opened with a thud. In walked two guards. Though it was obvious they were here for him, Nineteen didn’t even bother standing up. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Subject Nineteen, stand up and face the wall,” the one with the cap said. Still he remained on the floor as if he was deaf. He was utterly exhausted. He wanted a day off.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The words were repeated, but still the teenager didn’t move a muscle. It was first when the other guard held out a taser threateningly, he decided to actually weigh his options. Either he could stand up and let himself be escorted wherever he was going next, (which was probably to that damn chair again.) or he could get electrocuted and still be taken there anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He considered taking them out, try to escape this facility once more; however he knew the more he cooperated, the more blind they would be to the fact that he was planning an </span> <span class="s4"> <em>escape</em></span><span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">His memories might be gone, but deep inside there was something telling him that his life here was just</span> <span class="s4"> <em>wrong</em>.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">But hell, how in the world he was going to pull it off, he had yet to find out. This place was like a maze, each part of the facility so like the other, yet so different. And that was only the small parts he had seen. It looked like a mix between a hospital and a military base. Some sort of laboratory. And not only that, but it was </span> <span class="s4"> <em>underground</em></span><span class="s2">. It had security. Loads of guns, lots of men, so it wouldn’t be easy to get out. Nineteen had absolutely no idea where he was. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With a sigh, Nineteen rose to his feet, ignoring how his muscles protested. He turned to face the wall and let the guards handcuff him. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Try to sit still, would you?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The doctor wasn’t particularly threatening, nor kind, but sitting here in this room and taking his vitals, the woman had the same coldness in his eyes as everyone else at this facility. Nineteen wasn’t sure how he felt about her. As he studied her further, he noticed she had short, raven curly hair that matched her eyes. Her lab coat read Dr. Alana Harrison. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen rebalanced his position on the bedside, allowing the doctor to look into his ears.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Give me your arm,” she said and put away the instrument. He looked down at her for the explanation as to why he should do that, but she was far too busy to meet his gaze. Reluctantly, he cooperated. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A tourniquet was wrapped around the muscles of his upper arm, and he clenched his teeth as the rope bonded tightly around him. It suddenly felt weirdly numb and uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The doctor gently dabbed antiseptic wipe on his skin. It was almost soothing in contrast to the sickly warmth of nausea that was beginning to form in his stomach— Nineteen had a bad feeling about this. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He watched as she pulled something off the desk board and turned back to him with the item. In an instant all color drained from his face and he could’ve sworn he forgot to breathe.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">It was a </span> <em> <span class="s4">needle</span></em><span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She was going to drain blood from him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen’s past was a lost cause, but something about drawing blood made him shiver. It was almost as if his brain was trying to remember something he couldn’t quite grasp, and instead a weird feeling of déjà vu fell over him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Although he knew this procedure would be a simple breeze compared to the torture he had been through for the last few days, this particular dread was something entirely different.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He felt his limbs weaken and his mouth dry. Panic tightened his chest. As a pure reflex, he retreated his arm and held up the other to dismiss the woman. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, no,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I don’t think so.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Harrison leaned back in the chair with a frustrated sigh and cocked her head to one side. It almost seemed as if she was disappointed, to which Nineteen could only frown. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Look. Either we do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” she said. “It’s up to you.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Okay, it was settled. He most definitely did </span> <span class="s4"><em>not</em> </span> <span class="s2">like her.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The teen stared at her with narrowed eyes for a brief moment before he responded. “Not now.” Those two words were all that came. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">As if to prove she wasn’t afraid of him, or somehow better than him, she kept her eyes steady on the boy.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I have direct orders from my supervisors to examine you before you’re to be moved elsewhere. Sampling your blood so we can analyze it further is simply apart of the procedure.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Just…” Nineteen began. He sighed, hands trembling at the thought of having his blood drawn. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Fuck</em></span><span class="s2">. He was such a wimp… but he couldn’t do this now. “Just not today, alright?” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The doctor almost seemed to find that funny, to which Nineteen only grew more frustrated. Why was this so important, anyways? He was completely normal, right? Why would they want a better look at his DNA, his genes? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Peter continued to speculate before Dr. Harrison snapped him out of it with her British voice. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice in the matter, Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Fuck. Shit.” He cursed under his breath, wiping a shaky hand at his nose. Looking back at her, he felt an urge to punch her in the face but surprisingly found the strength to hold himself back.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Fine.” His words came with reluctance. “Do it.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">She set the needle on his arm, a gloved hand pressing on his wrist to keep his arm steady. Nineteen forced himself to inhale deeply and keep himself calm, but it wasn’t working. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Oh god. Fuck. I hate needles. I hate this so much.</em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Right on cue, the needle pierced through his skin. The harsh sensation of the blood being pulled from his vein was enough to make him nauseous. His throbbing head began to swim, his stomach churning violently as darkness threatened to take him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He urged his head to stay upright and willed himself to take another breath. In and out. Yeah, that’s it. In and out. Just breathe.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This was fine. He just had to keep breathing. Easy peasy. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">It was going relatively alright until Nineteen did something he knew he shouldn’t have. He </span> <span class="s4"> <em>looked</em></span><span class="s2">. He abso-freaking-lutely knew he shouldn’t have looked. He knew better, but it was like a magnet drawing his attention.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh god.” He winced at the sight of the crimson liquid being drawn out of his body through a plastic tube and into a little container. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">No matter how much he kept swallowing and his throat kept clenching he could not stop the warm feeling rising through his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Keep breathing, goddamnit. You’re not a child.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Relax. You’re alright,” the doctor coldly assured him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">No, no, no, no, no. He was not fine. He most definitely was not fine.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I think I’m gonna be sick.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly all his emotions came washing over him at once, everything he had so desperately tried to hold back. He placed his free hand on the bedside to keep himself balanced as a spicy nausea rose up his throat. His stomach twisted so violently he had no time to reach the dustbin across the room, vomit overshooting the freezing floor that numbed his toes. He heaved again before he slipped from the bed and sank down to his knees, chunks of food from yesterday's meal spraying his clothes. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><em>Shit</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He had thrown up.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Wiping a hand at his mouth, Nineteen realized the needle was no longer in his arm. That he was </span> <span class="s4"><em>free</em>.</span><span class="s2"> A breath of relief washed through his bruised insides.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That was, until the doctor spoke.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“You <em>goddamn </em></span> <span class="s4"> <em>animal!</em></span><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He blinked rapidly and turned around, trying to focus on the blurry figure before him. But that only released more tears, and he was ashamed and angry at the same time, because while Nineteen might only be a child, he was desperate to appear tough, so he could never be seen crying. Not again. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What?” His voice came out slurred and hoarse.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He stumbled to his feet and looked at her warily, watching as she wrapped a piece of paper around the container of his blood. Just the look of her made him feel the same nausea he had felt only seconds ago, fear tightening his throat as he stepped back when she approached him. She harshly retrieved the tourniquet from his arm, not once breaking eye contact. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He expected her to say something, anything, but instead she turned to the two guards standing by the exit of the room. “You can take him away now, I am finished.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">If it hadn’t been for the guards roughly grabbing him by his arms and shoving him away, Nineteen was sure he would let his anger overtake and leap at the doctor so he could show her justice. Should he feel any more ashamed for doing something he had no control of: throwing up? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He pushed the thought to the back of his head.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The teenager tried to remember each corridor they passed through, mapping each part of the facility. They came to a stop by a large, metal door. He had never been here before. An exit, maybe? Were they going outside? It could be.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A guard slid his keycard over the scanner. It hummed, then immediately lit green. However, the door lead to yet another corridor, this one far smaller and less modern. The guards walked in choreographed tempo before they stopped in front of another metal entrance, the same guard repeating his movements for the door to slowly open. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A small spark of excitement lit up in Nineteen’s chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was his chance of finally and actually getting out of here. He couldn’t bear to spend another day in here, he wanted to go home, wanted to be free from the pain that was settling at the crevices of his heart.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">To his big disappointment, this was yet another part of the facility. It looked like a small, completely empty warehouse, and just like the rest of the place it had no windows. Instead the only source of light came from the cold, square LED lamps that lined the ceiling.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">As Nineteen continued to scan his surroundings, he noticed the large glass wall to his far left, a barrier that separated him from Dr. Graves and a group of other staff. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Hello, Nineteen.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">After the metal door shut, those two words were the only sound that echoed throughout the large area. The boy’s attention snapped back to the glass to see a blonde woman and hear her voice through the speakers. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>“For a while now, we have been very eager to determine your range of abilities. So today, we would like you show us what you can do. Is that alright?”</em> She said, as if he had a choice.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4">His <em>abilities? </em></span> <span class="s2">Nineteen thought. Slightly confused, he simply nodded. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Good.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A man in a lab coat walked up to him and attached various wireless sensors and instruments to his neck, wrists, arms, shoulders and chest. Nineteen didn’t question it; he knew he wouldn’t get much of an answer anyway. The man backed away, leaving him standing alone in the large area.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly another door opened with a low hiss, and in stormed a group of seven obviously specially-trained soldiers dressed with scarlet bulging armor from top to toe. All their skin was completely hidden by the dark armor and it was a strange view, considering the guards he was used to. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The group of men began to charge toward Nineteen. Though fear instantly squeezed at his insides and his mind was yelling </span> <span class="s4"><em>run run run</em>, </span> <span class="s2">he stood still as if he was frozen in place, watching as they came. It was almost as if he had all the time in the world.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">Incoming danger.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A strange sense buzzed at the back of his head and his hand shot up instinctively as the lead soldier tried to punch him, catching the fist. Both Nineteen and the guy exchanged shocked looks for a good three seconds before he punched him hard in the stomach, sending the soldier flying and harshly hitting the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"> <em>What is happening with me? </em> </span> <span class="s2">Nineteen thought. </span> <span class="s4"><em>Where did I learn this?</em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen had no time to think. He dodged a hit from another soldier and launched himself into him, planting both feet firmly against his chest. He kicked away hard, then backflipped to slam his bare feet against another attacker just behind him. Both men fell to the ground, stunned, but recovered quickly. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><em>90 degrees left. Incoming</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He instinctively threw a hand up to dodge the hit, and he was fairly certain he could feel something reminding of electricity rushing through his veins and into his fingertips. He ducked as a hand swung towards his head, instead stumping on the soldier’s foot so it twisted; the man shrieked as the sound of bones cracking filled the air.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">By the time the deadweight hit the floor, he had punched two more men and put a knee to the back of another soldier. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Behind you. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What…”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What was that voice? That feeling and buzzing at the back of his head? He ducked nevertheless, turning to elbow a soldier in the ribs, dodge another hit, then proceeding to kick him in the side. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It seemed like Nineteen had the upper hand before the same feeling buzzed in his head.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Look up. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What? Look where? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly a fist slammed into his face and Nineteen was sent flying. He fell to the ground disoriented, tried to get up, only for the man to follow through with a hard kick to his stomach. He gasped as pain exploded in his belly, luckily rolling away just in time before the second strike.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The teen grunted as he knelt up, putting both hands on his burning stomach. It hurt. It hurt </span> <span class="s4"> <em>bad</em></span><span class="s2">. The room started to spin; something about all of his senses being attacked gave him the sudden urge to faint. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>“Sir, should we stop here?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>“No… not yet.” </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"> <em>Shit</em> </span> <span class="s2"><em>,</em> Nineteen thought, as he realized he might pass out. He immediately clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain and nausea that was striking him all at once. Tried to keep it together. Had to keep it together. He couldn’t lose control again.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><em>90 degrees right. Incoming.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The sounds of fighting returned to him. He opened his eyes, watching as another masked man sprinted for him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He had to do something. Had to stop this.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He dodged, and it was then it snapped for the boy.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He stopped evaluating and started attacking. Attacking for real. He didn’t calculate precise points of impact that would bring people down with minimal effort. He swung his fists until blood splattered the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The teen was furious; it flooded his veins like adrenaline. He shouted to ease some of the tension building in his bones, letting go of everything inside of him he had kept captive. Though he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, couldn’t get his muscles to relax, but he didn’t have to. There were more men, not hesitating as they took in his bloody and disheveled appearance. They simply marched forward, ready to attack, ready to fall.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>“Remarkable. His vitals are a little weak, but his reflexes are impressive. His agility and strength is far greater than we originally believed it to be— even for his low glucose levels. We will have to give him bigger, more regular meals, but I can say unequivocally that subject Nineteen truly is one of a kind.”   </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen gave the lab coats a sideway glance from where they were sitting behind the computers in the other room. They were chatting and taking notes, though the microphone was off… so how was he hearing them as if he was in that room himself?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>“Hmm. It appears almost like he has… enhanced hearing, too.” </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He had <em>what? </em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He shook his head and continued the fight: pivoted a foot, spun and slammed fists into flesh. One of the guards brought out a taser. Electricity flared through his muscles and he couldn’t help but scream. He forced his hand not to twitch before he spun out of the guard’s grip and jabbed him in the side. The man stumbled back. Over the last couple of days, he had come to realize that tasers were always there, that it was nothing new, that he was becoming more and more used to the pain. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Behind you. Duck. Danger danger danger-</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Without even turning around to see what the danger was, Peter ducked, them spinning around and bringing a strong hit to the soldier that sent him propelling to the ground.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>“Look at that. A sixth sense… it has to be.” </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>“You’re right. It seems he can somehow feel and detect incoming dangers and threats before they actually happen. We will have to study that one too in the near future.” </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He didn’t flinch at the groans of the soldiers nor did he cringe at their screams. It just fueled Nineteen’s temper. This was his revenge for all the torture this place was bringing him. It was all bad… he could </span> <span class="s4"><em>feel</em> </span> <span class="s2">it. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He brought a hand towards a man’s head and yanked him by the helmet before shoving him towards the far wall with more force than he wanted to apply. He realized that at the moment, he stopped caring about seriously hurting people. He wondered idly if it was because of his drug-induced trance. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Soon enough, there was nearly a dozen unconscious men on the ground, a smell of sweat and something else, and dripping splashes of red on the floor. He realized more soldiers had come to fight him, but he had easily won the battle.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen paused for just a second after the fight cleared. He had that locked jaw, hunched figure, and fixed gaze as he stood panting heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">In that moment the truth dawned upon him, his vision cleared and he realized what he had done.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He looked down at his hands, his bloody knuckles he had used on many of the unconscious bodies around him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>What did they do to me?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The floor buckled underneath him like he was on a boat and he fell to his knees with a thud.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">No… this wasn’t him. He didn’t do this. He couldn’t have. Had the desire for revenge simply been too strong? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>“Incredible.” </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It was the same female voice from earlier, the voice echoing throughout the open area. He didn’t bother looking up. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>“That will be all for today,”</em> the woman continued. <em>“Thank you, Nineteen.” </em></span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Promises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I don’t agree with what Graves is planning for you… He thinks it will change how we fight in wars forever, and maybe it will.” The man paused. “But it’s not right.” </p><p>Nineteen swallowed. What was it that Dr. Graves was planning for him? </p><p>“I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”</p><p>No… it couldn’t be right. This still was just a dream. </p><p>His brain was messing with him. </p><p>There was no way in hell that any of this was actually happening.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> <strong><span class="s3">DAY 13 | 06.53 p.m.</span></strong></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">"</span><span class="s3"><strong>EVERYTHING</strong> <strong>SEEMS </strong></span> <span class="s2">to be working so far. The prisoner—“</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“</span> <em> <span class="s4">Subject.</span> </em> <span class="s2">” The man corrected. </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The young woman hesitated before continuing. “The </span> <em> <span class="s4">subject’s </span> </em> <span class="s2">abilities are far more advanced than we originally thought, even after what we saw a week ago. I’ve never seen anything like it,” she stopped for a moment, then continued.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m still running tests, but it appears he’s somehow both spider and human— one organism with no negative defects I can find. It seems his DNA has mutated somehow. It is truly fascinating.” The doctor inspected the monitoring computer before her in the dark room.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves continued to look at the screen that showed what the subject was doing live through the cameras. The boy was moving himself up on a wall using both arms and both legs. He had climbed to the ceiling before he suddenly fell back down to the bed with a loud thud. Though he was obviously in distress, Dr. Harrison seemed amused.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy was still dressed in issued clothing, stamped all over with ‘Property of HYDRA’. Good. Though... He didn’t appear to be affected by it. That’s a shame. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Some of the other subjects had gone to great efforts to remove the letters in displays of defiance.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">"You never fail to disappoint me, Dr. Harrison,” he praised and turned to her with a crocodile smile. It disappeared just as quickly as it came. “But I hope for your sake that you understand just how important the boy is to us. Though he may be a mutant, he is no… well, let’s say, </span> <span class="s4"><em>animal</em>.</span><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She nodded. “Absolutely, sir.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was a short silence, the only sounds were the computers and monitors filling the air, as well as of the other scientists occupied with their work in the background.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I know you’re a little uncertain about this,” Dr. Harrison confidently said, perhaps too confidently given the sideway glare her boss gave her. “But this will all be worth it.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I </span> <em> <span class="s4">know </span> </em> <span class="s2">it will, Doctor.” Dr. Graves looked back at the screens. “After we have explored all of his enhancements, we will move on to stage two.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not really here.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The teen drew in a shaky breath. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“This isn’t real.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen lay on the bed, his dark gray blanket dragged up to his chin. His body was desperate to hold onto the little warmth he had left.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Hunger gnawed at his bones, but he knew better than to ask for the insane amounts of nutrition his high metabolism craved— he knew he had to cooperate. Anything, so they would be blind to his plan. Well... whatever that was. He hadn’t really given it much thought, any, at all. His situation truly sucked.  </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“This can't be real. I don’t know, I… I’m alone.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He rolled over with a shudder.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I’m </span> <em> <span class="s4">alone</span></em><span class="s2">.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He couldn’t remember how he got here, where he was. It was a small, cold, dark and gray room, with a single bed in the center of the four walls. Where was he? He had been here before… </span>
</p><p class="p3"><em> <span class="s4">Someone’s coming to save me,</span> </em> <span class="s2">he had deluded himself into believing, but now he wasn’t so certain anymore. Nineteen was the only person Nineteen could depend on; he was convinced of that now.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“</span> <span class="s4"><em>Nineteen</em>.</span> <span class="s2">” The sound of his name stabbed his ears like a knife. He hadn’t even realized someone had come in. Had they come to take him again? Were they still here? </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I have to sleep. I’m gonna sleep.” He half mumbled his words, world still buzzing around him as he was still deeply affected by the drugs in his system.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It had gone on like that for days; fighting, then being drugged. Over and over. The goddamn medical examinations, the torture, the blood. The vivid dreams made him unsure of whether this was even real or not.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">For what seemed like the first time that day, Nineteen jolted to his senses by a harsh, unwelcoming light blinding his eyes. He squinted as pain throbbed in his head and he had to cover his gaze with a surprisingly heavy arm. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You can sleep later, kid.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It was when the man retrieved his penlight, Nineteen finally got a clear view of him. His definition of clear was enough for him to make out simple traits, but everything was fuzzy and wasn’t nearly as clear as it was before.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This man was probably in his late 30s, with fluffy blonde hair and olive skin. Standing over him, he looked tall. He looked at Nineteen with concerned blue eyes, as if he was kind, unlike most people Nineteen had encountered. Was he kind? He had never seen him before, not that he recalled. Remembering was a lost cause at this point.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Look, we don't have a lot of time, so I’ll make this quick,” he said.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen was still uncertain of what it was he was talking about. He tried to sit up but was overwhelmed by dizziness.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"<em>Whoa</em> there, Nines. You might not want to sit up so fast." He reached over and applied a bit of pressure to the teen’s mid back in order to help him sit up. He ached all over, but he just wanted to sit up. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He continued to look at the stranger in the room with falling, questioning eyes. Sure, he looked like a mess with his hair sticking up in all different directions, but he had started to give less and less attention to his appearance.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was a suffocating heat everywhere making it difficult to think, hard to move in his vision at all. Not to mention the wheezing hissing sound with each inhale that couldn’t mean anything good. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man sighed. “They don’t treat you very well, do they?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen only shrugged. Right now he didn’t feel like joking about it, like he usually would have despite the dark times he found himself in. He was too exhausted, too tired. Too <em>lost</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t agree with what Graves is planning for you… He thinks it will change how we fight in wars forever, and maybe it will.” The man paused. “But it’s not right.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen swallowed. What was it that Dr. Graves was planning for him? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">No… it couldn’t be right. This still was just a dream. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His brain was messing with him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was no way in hell that any of this was actually happening.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>No</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Way</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He felt like he was in a daze. His head, interspersed with headaches, was in a constant fog. Focusing on anything was difficult because all he wanted was to get away, or run away or hide, or do all three somehow.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This was a test. It was a sick test. Nineteen couldn’t believe it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He opened his mouth to speak again, though his words were more difficult to form than he anticipated it would be.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What do you want from me?” He asked, tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth. He’d love a glass of water but, having been drugged once earlier today, Nineteen wasn’t eager to repeat the process.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man tilted his head. “I want you to be free, kid.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“A man like you… working </span> <span class="s4">here</span> <span class="s2">, couldn’t possibly do that without wanting anything in return.” He spit his words at the man, then lied back down on the bed.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>Screw this stupid test</em>, </span> <span class="s2">he thought. Though escaping seemed impossible given the state he currently was in, he wasn’t giving up just yet. But how could he trust anyone? </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man in the lab coat sighed before he dragged something out from the pocket of his coat. Nineteen watched with interest as an item was pulled out… </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">… a </span> <em> <span class="s4">sandwich?</span>  </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">If the man truly wished for him to be free, he had hoped the item would be something that could help him get out of here. Nevertheless, something so simple as a sandwich was something he didn’t know he had longed for, for a long time now. And hell, it looked good. His stomach growled in agreement.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Frankly, food isn’t this place’s top priority. I read your file— given your high metabolism you must be starving… I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you something nicer.” He gave Nineteen a pained smile before he handed him the beverage wrapped in plastic. Nineteen sat up in the bed and accepted it without much hesitation.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He inspected it carefully, eyeing the stranger every other second. Could the sandwich possibly be tampered with? It looked normal, with salad and chicken fillings. His stomach craved for the food but his head yelled for him to be smart about his choices. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Please. Don’t let this risk be for nothing.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With that, Nineteen slowly allowed himself to take a bite of the piece of food. It tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before, yet everything at the same time— he felt like he could actually feel the first bits of energy trickling through his veins. Enjoying the mouth-watering flavor of the sandwich, he let the panic in his throat sink back down. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man straightened himself and gave the boy a smile. He checked his watch before Nineteen heard him mutter something under his breath. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I have to go,” he suddenly said while Nineteen munched his way through the beverage. “I normally wouldn’t recommend eating fast, but it won’t be long until the glitch in the cameras passes.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen watched as he headed toward the door, then stopped in his tracks to look back at the boy. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Just hang in there. I’ll get you out.” He gave him a reassuring nod and smile. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Swallowing the food in his mouth, Nineteen spoke up just before the man left the room.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Who are you?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Sadness was clear in the man’s eyes at Nineteen’s question, as if he somehow had expected him to already know.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“My name is Colin.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Although he was having a hard time remembering, Nineteen would certainly try his best to keep his name in mind.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Running</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <strong> <span class="s3">DAY 21 | 03.16 p.m. </span> </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s3"><strong>A</strong> <strong>BODY</strong></span> <span class="s2"> fell limp to the floor with a thud. Though the victim may have received spider powers momentarily, it was nowhere near Nineteen’s range of abilities.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It reminded more of a virus; a disease tearing and eating away at her body. It didn’t take long before the woman’s body short-circuited and the flatline of a heart monitor filled the area. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Three hours and forty-nine minutes. We’re making progress,” Dr. Harrison said, writing on clipboard. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves continued to look through the glass wall, eyes resting on their second dead body. “The blood of subject Nineteen could be our permanent solution to creating superhuman weapons, that’s what you said.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Science takes time. There are dead ends and blind alleys on the path to every breakthrough, you know that.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The man in charge sighed and crossed his arms on his chest. "We are on a strict schedule, Doctor. Though we may have managed to keep ourselves hidden from the Avengers for so long, those clowns are still out there. What </span> <em> <span class="s4">exactly </span> </em> <span class="s2">is your plan?” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I need time—“ </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He cut her off. “Time we don’t have. If this doesn’t plan out, we have no choice but to go on with plan B.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I know, sir.” Dr. Harrison sighed and put the clipboard on the table. “If only I could—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She went silent for a moment, staring into thin air before her lips stretched into a small smile. It was obvious an idea had just lit like a lightbulb above her head. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He looked at her. “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Up until this moment, we’ve looked at things from the wrong perspective. If Nineteen’s blood combined with our serums only give Hydra’s soldiers temporary spider powers, how do we extend that forever?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The truth seemed to have dawned upon Dr. Graves too. “We go to the source of the blood.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Exactly. </span> <span class="s4"><em>Bone</em> <em>marrow</em></span><span class="s2">.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A mischievous smirk grew on the man’s face. “I suppose I could buy us more time by directing the Avengers elsewhere... When they find us, if at all, it will be too late for them to stop us.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“This might actually work, sir.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen’s hands were shaking, bandages covering the skin on his arms. They had found out about his enhanced healing factor when they cut him to ‘test’ the levels of his regenerating capabilities. Though they had used anesthesia and surely he was still pumped full of pain medication and drugs, he could feel the pain returning to him, pounding in time with his wild heart. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen didn’t see the big deal of it; he only healed faster than normal. Hours stretched into days of forcing his healing to overextend until bruises appeared and stayed, his quirk exhausted from overuse. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The thing that was the most tiresome, was that he found his blood being drawn more and more frequently the last couple of days. He was taken to that room multiple times a day and it left him dizzy, his energy completely drained from his body.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He couldn’t understand why it was so necessary, nor why they viewed him as so special. What had made him this way? Though nothing could match the terror he had felt the first time he had gone through it, he was certain he was never going to get used to their procedures.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">But did he </span> <em> <span class="s4">have </span> </em> <span class="s2">to get used to it? </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He wasn’t going to lie, he was starting to lose faith in his own plan of escaping. This place was impossible to map, and being drugged almost everyday on top of being shocked in that damn chair, certainly didn’t help for his thinking, either. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen had been escorted into a surgical room and willingly strapped down to a bed. He hadn’t bothered to say anything to the guards on his way here, yet how much he missed his own witty remarks. They were vanishing… just as his own hope was starting to. On some days he had to jerk himself out of his depressing thoughts; no longer was he even certain of how much time he had spent here.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">Colin</span><span class="s2">. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Despite their attempts to burn his memories out of his head, he had been unable to let go of a name. There had been a man, someone who was going to help him out of here… or had that been nothing but a dream, nothing but a creation of his rotting mind? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He had no one… no one who was waiting for him in the outside world— if there even was such a thing. If he had, they would have showed up by now.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He watched as people in ridiculous turquoise suits began to swarm around him. </span> <em> <span class="s4">Here we go again, </span> </em> <span class="s2">he thought, mentally preparing himself for the procedure.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">If it hadn't been for the shrieking alarm that went off, a needle would've gone straight into his arm and numbed him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>What was happening?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His eyes helplessly searched for the noise of the blaring sound. It rose to peak and then ebbed and rose to a peak again, while ringing his brain out like a sponge. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">"</span> <em> <span class="s4">Bombs</span> </em> <span class="s2"><em>?</em>" He heard one of them say, - a woman, - before he was pulled out of the bed and out towards the end of a corridor. If there was a bomb threat, it surely meant they had to evacuate. That could possibly mean going outside, couldn't it? In fresh air and bright light?</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A small smile spread across his face as his head began to stop swimming for once, and man, how he hoped it was day. He had heard the sun was beautiful.  </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A hand landed on his shoulder, and as Nineteen looked up to see who it was, hope fluttered in his chest at the view of a man he thought had been nothing but a hallucination.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"I've got him. You go ahead," Colin said. The guard that walked by his side hesitantly nodded and jogged away. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"You…" Nineteen began, but the man hushed him, looked around, then shoved him behind a corner. They continued to walk, but in the opposite direction of most people.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"I triggered the alarm so you can escape from here.” He urged Nineteen to move faster with a hand firmly pushing at his back.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You’re real,” the teen managed to croak out. He couldn’t help but smile a little, couldn’t believe freedom was so near. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What- of course I-“ he shook his head. “Look, there’s no time. You’re not safe here, you never have been. And if you stay any longer now, we’re all screwed.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah… I kinda figured that.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Colin pushed him through another corridor, then another, the hallways a strange sight as empty as they were. Suddenly an African American male guard approached them, gaze held firmly ahead as he walked alongside them. Concern crossed Nineteen’s face and he looked at Collin for an explanation.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t worry— Mason’s with us.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The guard, - </span> <span class="s4"><em>Mason</em>, </span> <span class="s2">- offered him a small smile. Swallowing his worry, Nineteen focused on keeping up with them and urged himself to keep a clear mind. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“We’re getting you out of here, kid. I can assure you, you’re never seeing this place ever again.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Though a buzzing sensation at the back of his head wasn’t so sure about that, Nineteen only nodded. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly a guard came into the view, and he immediately lowered his head as if that would somehow hide his identity. Brown, messy hair, a damaged body and hopeless eyes, not to forget the clothes that indicated that he simply couldn’t pass as a scientist. His movement wasn’t much of a help, and instead of letting them simply pass, she held out a hand and gestured for them to stop. He had never felt fear that strong before, and his breaths hitched in his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"Hey— where are you taking the subject?" She asked.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"We’re taking him to the others. It’s just a simple reroute, don’t worry. Come on, Nines.” Colin responded and urged him to keep walking.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen prayed to whatever gods were out there that the guard would buy it and walk way. But no, more and more people were beginning to notice, and the two next words that rung in the air was the start of something that would change his future forever.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">"Stop them!”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>Has this scenario happened before?</em> </span> <span class="s2">He pondered as a strange feeling of déjà vu fell over him.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Mason cursed in a language Nineteen didn’t understand, before he turned to the others and said</span><span class="s4">, </span> <span class="s2">“Run, I’ll keep them occupied!" They quickly swept from walking fast to straight-up running. At the sound of shots exploding in the air, the teen turned to see the guard shoot at his former colleagues, and succeeding big-time in that.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His heart was beating aggressively hard in his chest, it almost hurt. Hadn’t adrenaline been such a strong thing, he would have collapsed long ago.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"Hurry. We’re meeting some people on the outside," Colin said through gritted teeth as they made a rough turn around another corner, entering yet another corridor. This place was like a maze, each part of the facility so like the other, yet so different. Nevertheless, Colin seemed to know where they were going.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They stopped in front of a large door made of solid metal. He watched as Colin slid a keycard over a black little box with a scanner on the side. He heard a high-pitched beep, saw the light turning green. The door opened, leading to a much larger and brighter hallway.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They sprinted through it, through another long corridor, and soon stood in front of another giant door. Nineteen tried to ignore the sound of the guards' shoes hitting against the hard floor in the distance and gunshots. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He watched through bleary eyes as Colin slid the keycard over the scanner, just like he had done only half a minute before. Only this time the door didn't open.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Colin did it again and again, and the scanner beeped and beeped, but instead of litting green, it lit red.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">It wasn't working.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"<em>Goddamnit</em>." Colin cursed and dropped the keycard to the floor. "They must’ve deactivated my card.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mason came with heavy breaths and tried his keycard, only for the exact same thing to happen. “Mine too. We gotta take another way." </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Yes, except there was no other way out. He turned around to the other side of the corridor. A group of at least five heavily armed guards were slowly walking towards them, in the front was </span> <em> <span class="s4">the </span> </em> <span class="s2">Dr. Graves.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">No, no, no. </span> <em> <span class="s4">No</span><span class="s2">. </span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This couldn’t be real. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Stay close to me, kid,” Colin said, holding out a hand protectively although he both looked and sounded defeated. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">They were trapped. Nineteen's eyes were wide with terror. </span> <em> <span class="s4">Argh</span></em><span class="s2">— just when freedom was so close! They weren't getting through the door, and they were surrounded by guards. They were screwed, so screwed… </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"Aren’t there bombs for you to take care of?" Mason yelled and held his heavy gun threathengly toward them. Though in fear, Nineteen stood still and in place. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves just smirked before the corners of his mouth slowly fell down. "We both know there really are no bombs out there. What are you trying to achieve with this? Well respected employees, and now you're trying to get out of here with something that doesn’t belong to you?" </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was only a short moment of silence before the man in charge spoke again. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">"</span> <em> <span class="s4">Nineteen</span> </em> <span class="s2">.” Oh, how he hated hearing him say his name.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Look at you. You’re sick. You need to stay here so we can make you better. Come on, come here.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen just shook his head, failing miserably at hiding the emotion that was tearing at his insides.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves sighed at his response, and his demaneor immediately shifted from something that had been so warm to something so ice cold. His previously lifted hands fell retreated his sides.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"You're not getting through that door."</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mason attempted to fire his gun at the group of people, only for it to be empty. He brought an extra weapon from his belt and pressed the trigger of the handgun, several shots ringing through the air, but they were all blocked by plastic shields. Long before the handgun fell empty to the ground, Nineteen knew this was a lost battle. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Two of the guards opposite of them lifted their own heavy guns, sending bullets soaring through the air and hitting both Colin and Mason, sending them propelling backwards and colliding with the floor. The sound of the gunshots were so silent and so odd— like shooting an arrow with a bow.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Gaze darting between the twitching men as electricity still coursed through them, and the group of guards moving forward to drag them up, Nineteen was suddenly terrified. What would happen now, was he next to be shot?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Put both of the rebels in custody,” The man said, voice harsher than he had ever heard before. There was a small smirk climbing up his face; was he smiling because they had failed in getting away from here?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly he turned to Nineteen. “As for you…” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen took a small step backwards as the man approached him. He said one simple sentence before turning away from the boy, leaving him to be taken by two guards. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I expected better of you, Nineteen.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">A feeling he never thought this man would cause him burned out the fire inside of Nineteen: </span> <em><span class="s4">Guilt.</span>  </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Guilt for believing he was actually getting out of here.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">One second passed. Two seconds passed. Three seconds passed. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He couldn’t hear any other sound than his own sharp, uneven breathing and his echoing heartbeat. People were talking around him as if they were underwater and he could not hear a single word. He was being taken back again. That’s what he knew for sure. He was being taken back again, the future he thought he could have out of this organization’s grip nothing but a long lost dream. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">As sheer panic began to rise up his throat, he attempted to pull away from the guards' grips on him, but it was for no use. It was as if his muscles had been paralyzed. They weren’t responding. Nothing was.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This was really happening.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">Again.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The thought that perhaps he was actually meant to be here continued to echo through his mind as he was strapped back down to the uncomfortable bed. This was the universe’s way of telling him. He was never getting out of here, he was never going to be free.   </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A tear rolled down his cheek as a turquoise-dressed man moved up to his eyesight with an extra long needle that sent chills down his spine. He could've sworn the needle hadn't been this big the last time he saw it, it had grown like the Hulk grows when he is angry.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But it was fine, wasn’t it? It was fine. He was stuck here, so he might as well face it and get used to the needles. Another tear wetted his cheek before the sharp tool pierced through his skin. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Everything went black.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Looking For a Savior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <strong> <span class="s3">DAY 26 | 05.41 p.m.</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3"><strong> <span class="s3">HEAVY</span></strong> <strong> <span class="s3">EYELIDS</span> </strong> <span class="s2"> fluttered open to a sharp white light blinding his eyes. It wasn't the sun, no, this was shining from a closer distance and was much colder. It hurt.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He clenched his eyes shut, only for sharp pain to launch through his leg and colorful spots flash in his gaze. Fiery bursts pulsated around his hip, and he was drenched in sweat, throat dry and sore.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He heard voices coming from at least three people, but he couldn't understand a word. They were too soft and he felt like he was listening from underwater while the room revolved around him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He heard echoing small sounds. Metal hitting metal. A drill. The sounds weren’t particularly welcoming and he wanted to scream.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And he didn't know how he knew it, but something was wrong. And that wasn't just the pain that kept coming stronger back and forth every second, it was something different. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Daring himself to open his eyes again despite how drowsy he felt, the teen’s heart dropped into a dark abyss at the sight of his surroundings. As he looked to his side, he saw his wrists and arms strapped to the hard bed he was laying on. He was restrained to it— he was </span> <em> <span class="s4">trapped</span><span class="s2">.</span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A sudden wave of terror came looming over him, and as he lifted his heavy head up as far as the restraints allowed, he saw his leg and stomach strapped down, too. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But that wasn't what caught most of Nineteen's attention. These walls were familiar. The lights, the people in the ridiculous turquoise suits around him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">It was then it all suddenly fell back on him. He had been here before… Colin…  he had tried to escape… but he had </span> <em> <span class="s4">failed.</span>  </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And now he was back here.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Perhaps it was time for him to realize he was never getting out of this place. What was it now, the second time he had tried to escape?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A shadow crossed the light, and Nineteen saw the face of black haired woman with a stone cold look on her face glare straight down at him. Nineteen knew that expression too well, those evil eyes, he could recognize them almost anywhere.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It was Dr. Harrison. Though he had only met her a couple of times now, there was no one he hated more. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How is he waking up?” A man’s voice.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Amazing… His metabolism somehow burns right through the drugs. Increase his dosage with 200%.” She said. Then she was gone.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was a short pause. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Dr. Harrison, we risk stopping his heart. We could <em>kill</em> him.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m fully aware.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"> <em>No, no, no, no. </em> </span> <span class="s2">He widened his eyes in raw fear. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>I don’t want this.</em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>I don’t want to die.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Without hesitating, Nineteen began to pull desperately at the restraints on the bed. He groaned, trying to ignore how much his hip was blazing with pain and how he never had felt more like a rotting corpse before.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Because of the restraints, he couldn't move enough to see much of what was happening, but he still managed to see several people that had gathered around his side just by where the pain was coming from. What were they doing? He wanted them to stop.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">As a man approached him with a new dosage ready to be injected into his veins, he heard the beeping of a monitor pick up and felt raw panic tug at his bones. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No, please, stop—“ he began, but Nineteen fell silent as a needle pierced through his neck. Immediately the world began to fade, his head falling back and muscles numb, his eyes open but lifeless. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That was, of course, what he wanted to portray. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Just as quickly as the needle had gone into his neck, Nineteen began to twitch uncontrollably. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Shit. He’s going into cardiac arrest.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><em><span class="s4">Yes, exactly. That’s what I’m going into,</span> </em> <span class="s2">he thought.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">As a turquoise-dressed man leaned over him, Nineteen broke his left arm free from the restraints with all the strength he had left in him, and swung his fist into his face. The man fell back into a tray, the noise of metal clanking and tools hitting the ground erupting in the air.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Wide-eyed, the boy used the moment to break free from the other restraints and stand up from the bed table. Just when he felt his consciousness ebb, he was brought back by his sixth sense and looked up to see a woman arching for him with a syringe in her hand. He grabbed her hand and brought the needle around so it stabbed her in the hip; the woman fell unconscious to the ground with a thud.  </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He didn’t think as he viciously brought the scientists to their knees. He didn’t hesitate as he slammed his foot into a man’s throat. All he could think of was to get the fuck out of here. It was as if it suddenly had snapped for him. </span> <em> <span class="s4">If he was going to die, it wasn’t happening here.</span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Colin had given him <em>hope. </em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was determined to give it one final try. After all, third time’s the charm, right? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">As soon as he had taken the scientists and a couple of guards out, he sighed. For a moment, his boiling blood cooled. He reached for the double-doors and pushed them open, pulled his gaze from the concrete floor to catch a glimpse of the hallway that stretched beyond to his left and right. It was dark. The cold lights flickered on and off. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His head was pounding, but even so he knew something wasn’t entirely right. Not yet. The alarms were blaring– why weren’t there more guards? Sure, he’d taken out quite a bunch, but they were always dispersed, looking just as flustered as he felt.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Why weren’t there anyone at all here? There must be something he was missing.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was no one here. No one at all. It was an unusual sight— almost as if it was abandoned. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He leaned against the wall as he forced himself to move forward, to get away from here. His lungs were filling with water and eyes clouded, his arms desperately clinging for the walls to keep himself going. His system was obviously affected by whatever had just been injected into him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">As he rounded a corner, the sight of two guards in the halls sent shivers down his spine. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Ah</em></span><span class="s2"><em>. </em>There they were.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>There’s only two…</em> </span> <span class="s2">he told himself, then simply strode forward and dispatched them with as little exertion as was required.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A sort of dread hitched in his chest. He didn’t know how much strength he had left. He didn’t know what it would take before he crashed with all these drugs burning up in his system. He was almost out now. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The teen forced himself to move forward no matter how much the ground was swaying. He could barely see, barely hear. Body was barely functioning. He knew the moment he closed his eyes for too long, he would give in to the drugs and let himself be captured once more. That he would die.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">So he had to keep going. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You messed up.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That voice. It couldn't be…</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen came to a sudden stop, turned around, his weight sinking at the sight of his younger self standing before him with hate-filled eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Why’d you have to mess up?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The figure before him couldn’t possibly be real but Nineteen’s mind wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders with the amount of drugs in his veins.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His gaze fell on his own arms and body, and it was then he realized he was wearing some sort of red and blue spandex suit. It looked odd. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“<em>Mess up?</em>” Nineteen repeated the words in a whisper as he looked up from himself and back to young Nineteen. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Mess up what?</em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy in front of him in the dark hallway was crying now, glaring at him as he lifted his lip to bare his teeth, words deep and angry.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I </span> <span class="s4"><em>hate</em> </span> <span class="s2">you.”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen moaned, chest squeezing tight. Why was it was getting so hard to breathe? He pressed his hands against the wall, hoping to regain some footing.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy crept forward. How his hood casted shadows across his face made his white teeth stand out animalistically as he bared them at his prey.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You ruined <em>everything,</em> like you always do.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen's heart pounded hard, aching as his younger self pressed his hands to Nineteen’s chest, pushing down and making it more difficult to breathe.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You deserve to die. For what you did to me, to my family...and for what you’ll do to so many more.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What…” Nineteen whispered under his breath. There was so much anger in those eyes, so much pain. He sucked in a wheeze, hands scrabbling for the ones suffocating him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I would never… hurt… anyone.” He pushed his words out between desperate pulls of air.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His other self sneered at him, pressing down with all his weight until Nineteen was left with his mouth gaping open and closed with no air coming through to ease the burning in his lungs. Then he stepped back, and Nineteen was left coughing on the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Yes, you would. And you know it. You’ll hurt them like you hurt everyone. Your father, your mother. Your uncle and your aunt... <em>Colin.</em> Mason</span><span class="s4">.</span> <span class="s2"> Everyone you love ends up hurt at </span> <span class="s4">your </span> <span class="s2">hand. Or worse— they </span> <span class="s4"> <em>die</em></span><span class="s2"><em>.</em> You weren’t strong enough to stop it from happening, like you won’t ever be.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen had no idea what his subconsciousness was talking about.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No...you... ‘re wro.. ng,” he forced out through ragged breaths. He struggled to pull off the suffocating mask covering his head in hope for it to be easier to breathe.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Admit it. You’re a plague. It wasn’t the bite that made you this way. You have always been a monster.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Pain gripped his chest in a vice and his hands were growing weak where he tried to push himself up. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He couldn’t drag in a single clean breath, couldn’t move, couldn’t call for help. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was the monster all along. Maybe that was why his helpless attempts at escaping this place always ended up being nothing but a failure.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“You made </span> <span class="s4"><em>me</em> </span> <span class="s2">a monster!” Suddenly the boy arched for him, but Nineteen wasn’t quick enough to stop a fist from colliding with his face. He fell back as throbbing pain launched itself through his body.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I <em>hate</em> you! </span> <span class="s4"><em>You</em> </span> <span class="s2">did this to me!” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen tried to get up, but he was kicked harshly to the floor. Blood spluttered from his mouth and painted the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You ruined everything!” Young Nineteen screamed at him, kicking at the body on the floor, before he all of the sudden came to a stop. Nineteen’s heart thumped hard against his rib cage, everything nothing but a distant blur. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He watched as the young boy reached for the red mask on the floor. The boy’s eyes drilled into his own, tears in his eyes and lips trembling as he pointed at it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“This…” he began, breathing heavily. “It’s all because of this.” He shook his head with a scoff and dropped it back to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s all because of YOU!” The teen could only watch as he arched for him again. One more hit and darkness threatened to take him, and he let it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When Nineteen came to, he found himself no longer in the dark hallway. He was in an apartment, a living room. It was dark and he couldn’t figure out why he was here, lost in a desert of his own making. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What the hell had just happened? He struggled to put the puzzle together, it was all too chaotic. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The ringing in his ears faded as he managed to stand just upright, standing on widespread legs so he wouldn’t risk falling again. Unlike the hallway, it was quiet in here. It felt strangely cozy and nice. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Familiar</em></span><span class="s2"><em>, </em>in a way. Had he been here before?</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The ground under his feet wobbled as he swayed. He urged for it to stop shaking, for everything to </span> <span class="s4"> <em>calm down</em></span><span class="s2">, but instead he came tumbling down to the floor again.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Upon impact, the teen couldn’t help but let out a yelp as pain jabbed at his body. Inhaling sharply, he drunkenly but determinedly clambered back to his feet, scanning the area through a blurry vision.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It dawned upon it that there was someone else in here. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">He wasn’t alone.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was someone sitting on the couch, talking and watching television. A middle aged woman and man, only their backs.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Though he had yet to see their faces, something inside of him was pulling him to them. It was almost as if he knew them, yet he couldn’t recall ever seeing them before.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Desperately placing one foot in front of the other, Nineteen began to walk toward them. He wanted to go to them, to <em>be</em> with them. There was just something about this— he <em>belonged</em> here. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly a voice cracked through the soft jazz music playing in the distance, and his surroundings began to shift before his very eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You can’t run from what you are, Nineteen.” He instantly recognized his younger self’s voice.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>No,</em> </span> <span class="s2">he thought. Fright clawed at his chest and the two figures in the room disappeared. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“In the end, true nature always win.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen whipped his head around so fast his neck cracked, searching for something to happen, but everything was simply pitch black. Somehow it felt like the darkness was closing in on him. He was going mad, he knew it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“You’re not crazy.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His jaw dropped at the voice. Foolishly, he scanned his surroundings again, but the owner of the soft, warm voice was nowhere to be found.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“It’s alright. You’re gonna be fine, just hang in there.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The words didn’t sink in on him, he could only stay crumbled on the floor as the room slowly began to shift back into what it was. She hushed him, though his eyes were shut he knew it was too late.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His head didn’t seem to make up its mind; hope was already starting to form in his chest again. Because deep down, he knew he longed for freedom, whatever he was doing to convince himself otherwise. The figure before him gave him a strange sense of purpose and he wanted to break down and sob, as it showed in his broken voice when he whispered.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“MJ?” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It had come before he had even realized what he had said. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">Michelle Jones.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He knew it. He knew her name. But </span> <span class="s4"><em>how?</em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Using a steady arm to hold himself in a half-sitting position, he looked at her with sad eyes, taking in her appearance as she drew her hand through his hair. She looked kind with her smile, her curly hair and brown eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">It was then it struck him— </span> <span class="s4">he was <em>remembering.</em></span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That’s right,” she cooed him. “You’re okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A half wrenched sob tore through him. “I’m not.” He shook his head, because he knew it wasn’t true. “I’m a monster.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She tilted her head to one side and continued to look at him sadly, but said nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” He bit his lip. “Tell me it’s on me.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">MJ’s brows knitted together and she shook her head.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Please,” he swallowed. “I don’t wanna die here, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna—“ He didn’t get the chance to continue before MJ embraced him for a hug. His body melted into the warmth of hers, and <em>wow,</em> it felt good. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You have to be strong. Be strong for me, okay?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He wanted to ask how she was here, how he could be remembering, if anything of it was real, but the words just don't come. Instead, he managed to nod despite his trembling self.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Good,” she said. He could feel her stroking his back and comforting him, something he didn’t want to ever stop. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t give up... don’t give up.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He blinked, and with that, everything around him disappeared.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The reality of it being nothing but a hallucination hit him as he awoke back on the cold, surgical bed. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Michelle Jones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s3">Michelle Jones</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <strong> <span class="s4">OCTOBER 30th</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3"><strong> <span class="s4">MJ</span> </strong><strong><span class="s4">JERKED</span> </strong> <span class="s2"> awake suddenly, thrown from the claws of a nightmare with a gasping shudder. A drowned girl resurfacing, she looked around with wild eyes, trying to orient herself in the darkness of the room. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">“</span>
    <span class="s3">Peter?</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2">”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The name was only a whisper of air past her lips. Reality fixed before her as awareness came to her sluggishly, chest continuing to heave with each frantic breath. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No...” she shook her head, grimaced, and brought a hand up to her face. “Fuck.”  </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s3">Peter wasn’t here anymore. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Three weeks had passed, but still it was something she could never find herself to believe. Peter’s absence tore a hole in her chest that wouldn’t heal. It only grew for each time she thought about him, each time she was reminded that he was gone.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nightmares weren’t unusual for her; they frequented her as a child, but that was </span> <span class="s3"><em>years</em> </span> <span class="s2">ago. However, these past weeks she has found herself being victim to them more often, and this particular dream had shaken her quite a bit. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Because she had dreamt about him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Her heart clenched tighter and the knot in her throat surged up.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Exhaling a shaky sigh, she drew her hand through her damp hair. The black of her room made it difficult to clear her senses and gain her bearings. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Before she could stop herself, even stop to wipe the sweat from her forehead, she had turned on her night lamp and was unlocking her phone, opening FaceTime, and calling Harry.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s3"><em>This is stupid</em>, </span> <span class="s2">she thought with shaky hands. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>It's three in the morning. There’s no way he will pick up. </em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But of course, Harry’s face appeared onscreen moments later in response. He looked exhausted, but the lazy grin adorning his face indicated he'd been up all night anyways.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Morning, MJ,” he greeted. MJ blinked, startled when Harry’s expression suddenly changed to something so concerned. “Hey— Are you alright? What’s wrong?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That’s when she realized she had been crying. Embarrassed, she looked away and wiped the tears out of her eyes, lips quivering just so slightly. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With a sharp inhale she looked back at him, partially ready, and forced a weak smile. “Yeah… all good.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Harry had sat himself upright now, clearly alarmed. His eyes were so wide with worry; there was no indication he believed her. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I have...” she began, reluctantly opening up. ”I had some trouble sleeping— Bad dream. But I’m okay now, I-I promise.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">MJ waited terrifyingly long for him to answer. She held her breath, not daring to even look at him. Just waiting for Harry to laugh at her formed an unsettling feeling in her stomach, that he would tell her that she was only being dumb, and to go back to sleep.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But that never came. Instead his eyes softened at that, a gentle smile gracing his lips, one she couldn’t help but truly return. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You want me to come over?” He asked, and she thought that, despite it being in the middle of the night, he actually wanted to come and comfort her friend. She felt selfish for desiring it and quickly brushed him off.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No no, it’s okay. Don’t— I’m okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Another pause came. She didn’t know what to say now, she hadn’t thought that far ahead before calling.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Well… do you wanna talk about it?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She shook her head. It was humiliating enough already. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No… but—“ she stopped, looking at the dimly lit face of her friend. In the corner she was, looking just as awful as she felt.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Do you think… maybe you could stay on call with me? Just… just talk to me till I fall asleep?” Her voice was quiet, unsure of itself. “You don’t have to, </span> <span class="s3"><em>God</em>, </span> <span class="s2">that was such a dumb thing to ask—“ But before she could continue, Harry had answered. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Of course.” The reassuring smile came again. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Relief sank her shoulders. She allowed herself to lie back down in bed, fear finally seeming to fade from her bones. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You want me to do the talking?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Please.” She hadn’t meant for her voice to come out as a whisper, but Harry had heard her.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It went like that for the next hour, probably— MJ wasn't keeping track. At some point, Harry had climbed into his own bed as well, deeming his friend to be much more important than whatever he'd been busy with previously.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She remained quiet as he rambled from one topic to the next. Not once did he expect nor receive a reply. He could only tell MJ’s state of consciousness by the small 'mhm's she’d been responding with, a soft glint from the phone screen reflecting in her half-lidded eyes. He didn’t mind. She couldn’t put words into how grateful she was for him right now.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Soon enough, the nightmare became nothing but a foggy memory to her. All unease had been replaced with a sense of safety. The soothing voice of her friend was slowly putting her to sleep, and the next thing she knew, she had drifted off to sleep.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Monday morning, MJ made it to her locker and grabbed her English notebook, but then just remained there, even after the second bell rang. She stood still in the middle of the hallway while people rushed past her in both directions.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Until, that was, she had to snap herself out of it and fight to keep her head from swimming. Nothing had a purpose anymore, she felt like she was simply just floating.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">An hour later, she found herself in the cafeteria, sitting at their usual lunch table with her friends. Her face blank, a sorrow behind her gaze, mind wandering. Ned, Gwen and Harry’s conversation was only a far echo as her eyes rested on Peter’s empty seat. It remained untouched; even Gwen insisted on using the same creaky chair instead of his every day. MJ wasn’t entirely sure as to why. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“MJ?” Her name. She turned slowly, her eyes meeting Ned’s concerned brown pair. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Ned,” she said. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You didn’t hear what I asked, did you?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">MJ didn’t answer, only pushed at her food, pretending that she had at least tried to eat it. She breathed in, then out, tried to sit straight, tried to at least make it seem like things were alright.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A silence fell over the table. She could feel Harry look at her with a wariness, while Gwen busied herself with her food.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Ned let out a defeated sigh. “He’s not coming back, you know.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The mention of Peter punched the breath out of her lungs. A sob caught in her throat, she looked down and miraculously managed to keep the tears welling up in her eyes from spilling over.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“We were at the funeral,” Gwen suddenly decided to pipe in. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Not helping, Gwen. </em> </span> <span class="s2">“His aunt and uncle too— it was an accident, MJ… We can hate it all we want, but they happen.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">MJ couldn’t help but wonder how they seemed to move on so quickly. They had obviously been affected by it the first week, sure, but now it was almost as if nothing had happened at all. Her blood boiled with righteous fury, though her heart remained heavy with grief.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">She inhaled a shaky breath. Her face felt warm. She hated this so much, she wanted to flee from the scene. Away from this. Anything was better than here. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>Anything.</em></span><span class="s2"> Even Harry looked at her differently now, like she was a bomb about to explode.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">MJ suddenly came to think of how they had become friends. Peter and her. It had gone fast, then, after she realized she had taken a liking to him. They became good friends, closer than she ever would have interpreted. She was no longer the loser of the school, though she often found herself jokingly calling Peter one. He had </span> <span class="s3"><em>saved</em> </span> <span class="s2">her life. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">From their initial stiff interactions, they fell into an easy banter. In time, she had found a strange sense of ease slip over her when in Peter’s presence. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">At last, she decided being friends with Peter Parker didn’t sound too bad after all. Not that there was much she could do about it at that point— the boy had won. If she had to suffer through endless tales about scientific researches, for that strange sense of comfort that Peter brought out, she was more than willing to. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But what had Peter seen in her that could possibly be likeable? She was a wreck, barely able to speak without breaking down. Fuck, she really was crying again, the tears just streaking down his face silently. She hadn’t even noticed that she’d started. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Hell, she had even been with him the day before all this. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This world didn’t deserve Peter Parker. His heart was so pure, so big; no way he could wish evil on anyone. No matter the circumstances he always tried to see the good within people. MJ always joked that he was too good for his own sake, and that someday his kindness would get him into trouble. But it hadn’t been trouble.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It had been <em>death.</em></span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“</span><span class="s3"><em>Michelle.</em></span><span class="s2">” Shaken out of her thoughts, MJ looked up to see Harry leaned across the table, squinting at her. A pair of her friends was taken aback by her state, but Harry only moved to latch his bigger hand over hers. A soothing squeeze. </span> <span class="s3"> <em>You can do this. You’ll be alright. </em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Would she ever be?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Miraculously, she managed to keep her voice from trembling. Ashamed, she pulled her hands to herself, out of his grasp, to which Harry was obviously hurt no matter how much he tried to hide it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“MJ...” Harry still tried desperately to make eye contact, but MJ refused. “C’mon. Is this about the nightmare? Talk to me.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“</span> <span class="s3"> <em>Nightmare?</em> </span> <span class="s2">” Ned asked. Harry shot him a look.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“</span><span class="s3"><em>Please</em>,” </span> <span class="s2">Gwen tried</span><span class="s3">. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She shook her head. Being a master at compartmentalization, she hated anyone, including them, for seeing her like this. She hastily wiped her tears away. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I dunno. I just… I don’t...” Her lip quivered, breaking the sentence off as she struggled to keep her emotions from sounding.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">She swallowed the sob rising up her throat. ”He was just </span> <span class="s3"> <em>there.</em></span><span class="s2">” MJ gestured toward the empty chair. “He was literally there, just </span> <span class="s3"><em>days</em> </span> <span class="s2">ago.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The three of them looked at her sympathetically, but said nothing. They were worried about her, she knew. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Eventually, MJ figured she couldn’t be here. It had already gone too far. She rose from the lunch table and escaped out of the cafeteria, ignoring the calls of her friends. She couldn’t do this. She was lost, broken in pieces that were scattered everywhere. It all came pouring out, all the guilt, all the shame, all the sorrow, all the frustration. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">MJ ran into the girls’ bathroom, quickly into a stall and locking the door. Sliding down the wall and burying her face in her knees, she slowly allowed herself let it all out.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She cried.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She cried and she cried and she cried.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Lily</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <strong> <span class="s3">DAY 64 | 9.08 p.m.</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s3"><strong>NINETEEN</strong> <strong>WISHED </strong></span> <span class="s2">they would just let him sleep. Every day was a challenge in itself, and it took mere willpower for him to endure it all from morning until night. Most of the time he found himself drugged and unconscious. As tiring as it was, it was no surprise that he spent the other time fast asleep in his cell. </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He had never felt exhaust like this before in his life. But then again, he couldn’t seem to remember a life past this place, whatever it was. All he knew was this. </span> <em> <span class="s4">Pain. </span> </em> <span class="s2">He didn’t want to be awake. Wakefulness meant fear and hurt and confusion, it was easier to close his eyes, drifting.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His body weighed a thousand tons, always too heavy to carry, too heavy to think. Was it too much to ask for a break? Life had become a blur of scientists rotating over him, muttering to themselves and finding new spots to poke and prod. Needles suddenly weren’t so scary anymore, as often as they were being used.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">If anyone ever asked what the hardest part of living here was, it wouldn’t be eating the same food everyday or the harsh punishments or even the experiments. It would be the isolation. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nineteen was </span> <em> <span class="s4">so </span> </em> <span class="s2">alone here. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">For over two months he had been stuck in this cell, though he’d begun to doubt his tracking of time— which was based purely on instinct. He counted the number of times he received food: morning, midday and evening. He tried his best to guess when night had fallen, but his irregular sleeping hours made that more difficult. He lied all curled up under a thin wool blanket, arms folded, trying to hug some warmth into his shivering, distraught self. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He knew there were others here, but he was never allowed to see them. He had seen them with their pained looks, heard their screaming. He wasn’t sure how many of them there were, how they were, but at this point he didn’t care who he spoke to. He just wanted to see someone other than the same damn guards and scientists everyday.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He didn’t know why the complete isolation scared him the most. Perhaps that in itself was a sign that he’d lost it. He had plenty of food and water, but his mind was beginning to believe that the loneliness was eventually going to swallow him whole.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He’d already tried countless times to get the door open himself, but it remained shut no matter how hard he tried. The room was so quiet. </span> <em> <span class="s4">Too </span> </em> <span class="s2">quiet. Only the buzzing of the cameras filled the air; he couldn’t seem to hear anything past these walls. If he didn’t go crazy fist, his brain was definitely going to explode.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The dream of Michelle had become the only thing keeping him going. Yet here, lying completely covered by his blanket, he had never felt more at rock bottom. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">Michelle Jones.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He knew her. Somehow, he knew her name. In a sense, he could feel bits and pieces of images and memories flashing through his mind, but they were far too unclear for him to decipher. His head hurt but he had to finish the puzzle piece. He was desperate to.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Then there was the strange suit. Red and blue. A mask with two big, confronting white eyes. It looked vaguely familiar, but nowadays everything did.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The chime of the door unlocking filled the air. A harsh opening of the door made Nineteen quickly (but with little elegance) stand up, staring at the two guards that entered the room. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Subject Nineteen, stand back and face the wall.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It had become a routine at this point. With a sigh, he cooperated. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves watched with great interest on the surgical scene, standing behind his scientists monitoring the screens before him. His gaze fell through the blue glass and onto the sleeping little girl laying on the surgical bed in the midst of it all. Doctors walked back and forth, preparing themselves for the process that was to come. Behind the glass, noises were all over: the slow beeping of the monitors, the humming of the computers and machinery, and occasionally the scientists and medical staff surrounding the girl. On this side, however, it was obvious the silence was well enjoyed.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This was the third time they were attempting the bone marrow transplant, and although the staff of course was cooperating, it was clear some were more hopeful than others. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Suddenly the </span> <span class="s4"><em>click-clack</em> </span> <span class="s2">of Dr. Harrison’s heels approaching as well as her voice filled the room, though the well-dressed man didn’t move a muscle. “Sir,” she had said to get his attention, but Dr. Graves stood intact with his arms crossed in his chest, eyes set on the little girl. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The raven-haired woman stopped next to the tall man, a tablet held firmly against the side of her lab coat. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">It was quiet for a moment before the woman spoke again. “Although neither the previous bone marrow transplants nor gene therapies were so successful, I can say I feel confident in this one, sir. No one has ever matched Nineteen so well as this subject. I-It’s </span> <em> <span class="s4">perfect</span> </em> <span class="s2">— it’s bound to work.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves sighed, finally speaking. “Baron Strucker is expecting results, Doctor. He’s getting impatient, and quite frankly, so am I.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Harrison noticed the way the man was looking at the little girl on the table. His eyes were soft, though she couldn’t understand why a man like him would feel for a test subject. Did she remind him of someone?</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Sir,” she began carefully. “All the lives we have already sacrificed will not be in vain. I promise you. We </span> <em> <span class="s4">will </span> </em> <span class="s2">make Hydra proud. This is gonna work.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He sighed again, seeming like he was thinking long and hard about what the woman was saying. “Well, we can all agree subject Nineteen is one of a kind.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A small smile drew on her lips. “I couldn't agree more, sir. Whether he was accidental or not, I do think the subject can do great things for this world. I couldn’t be happier being apart of such important work.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You were always one of my best, Dr. Harrison.” He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a firm squeeze, then retreated it. He couldn’t help looking at the girl; She couldn’t be older than eight, possibly ten. A sudden thought sparked in his head: was she even fit for these trials? Although he would lie if he didn’t say he was worried for her safety, he let his calm and cold demeanour hide it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“The girl,” he said, voice barely more than a murmur. “What’s her name?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Harrison seemed taken aback by that. “Oh, this is just one of the new subjects that-“ </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No,” the man interrupted, his icy yet soft eyes meeting hers for the first time then. “Her real name.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Harrison kept her gaze on the man. “Lily,” she said eventually. As Dr. Graves looked away from her, a frown crossed the woman’s face and she seemed visibly bothered. “Will there be complications, sir?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No,” he answered coldly, not wasting any time. “Initiate the process.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yes, sir.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves watched as the woman went back through the doors and into the surgical room. Soon, the young doctor he believed to be Dr. Martin stepped forward with a syringe in her hands, filled with the crimson liquid of subject Nineteen’s bone marrow. He stepped closer to the glass, watching with great interest as the blonde woman gently injected the bone marrow into Lily’s central line. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The whole scene was nerve wracking and quiet as the woman stepped back, the beeping of the little girl’s heart monitor remaining steady as if nothing had happened. Was this finally working? She had already showed signs that no previous candidate had. </span><span class="s4"><em>Good</em> </span> <span class="s2">signs. Was this the first step in the right direction? Dr. Graves’ lips parted in utter shock.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“The subject seems to be accepting the blood. She’s stabilizing,” one of the scientists sitting before him informed. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Small relieved exhales went across the room, and soon enough Dr. Graves couldn’t hide his satisfaction either and his lips stretched into a slight smile. They watched as the little girl slowly sat up on the bed, nudging her sleep-deprived eyes before she curiously let them drift across the room. A doctor steadied her, while others kept looking in complete awe. Lily looked completely fine, im fact she looked better than she ever had. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Healthy. </em> </span> <span class="s2">Rosey cheeks, hopeful blue eyes and red lips, though her russet autumn hair still was messy. </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Start running tests,” Dr. Graves said. It had only been minutes and he knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but maybe Lily was </span> <span class="s4"> <em>special</em></span><span class="s2"><em>.</em> “Test her abilities and limits right away.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And with that, Dr. Graves left the room. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><hr/><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A pair of pained eyes slowly fluttered open in the dim light of a small recovery room.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What first came to him were the looming smells and sounds that only brought a disturbing feeling of wrongness. The dull ache in his shoulder came next, just as the hollow and stiff pain throughout his body. His brain felt sluggish and left behind, like his body insisted that he should keep going and get up from this bed, but his mind wasn’t listening. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Just as he became more and more awake, he became more and more aware of the pulsing and throbbing pain that launched itself from head to toe. He couldn’t help but let out a pathetic groan, because everything hurt. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Everything.</em> </span><span class="s2">It hurt to breathe, it hurt to swallow, it hurt to hold his eyes open, it hurt to lay completely still and do nothing. Down to his bones in a way he didn’t even think was possible.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy felt too hot, like there was molten lava under his skin that was melting his insides. Yet, somehow the surface of his skin was too cold at the same time and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering. His eyes wouldn’t open again because his mind was too sticky, too hard to think and too hard to stay awake. So he drifted off. In and out, back and forth. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When Nineteen woke up a couple days later, his eyes were still closed, still in the cold darkness of the room. At least now his head was clearer and each inhale came easier. His chest wasn’t as tight as it had been and his lungs were not as heavy, but still every breath took a great amount of effort to get the air he needed. He felt like he was suffocating. He didn’t like it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen grunted and finally his eyes were beginning to open; revealing a pair of bloodshot, sad, deep brown eyes gazing straight up at the ceiling above.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He blinked a couple of times, nudging his burning eyes to adjust to the light, though his senses were disoriented he was starting to feel more and more discomfort and pain.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><em>So I’m still here</em>, </span>
  <span class="s2">he thought when he noticed the familiarity of the facility. He let out a pained breath of air, then started to wonder idly what the scientists had done to him this time.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">For all he knew they could’ve tore out his back and broken every single bone in him there was, then ripped out his organs and set fire to them because that was exactly how it felt like. As if not to forget the headache that made him want to tear his skull to pieces. It wouldn’t surprise him if they had actually done all this, though he knew it had to be something along those lines. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But did he really care? Nineteen had sunken so deep now, he was starting to think this was a life he was never going to get out of. He might as well get used to it. Nothing was going to change, nothing at all. He was forever destined to be their little lab rat, and never would they see him as anything more. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He began to sit up slowly and carefully, his back screaming for him to stop but he was determined to keep going. He clasped his right hip protectively as it exploded upon exploded with fire. Too proud to admit that he was too hurt for it, that he could never be too injured to simply sit. It was a </span> <span class="s4"><em>sit.</em> </span> <span class="s2">He could manage that, right?</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Even through a series of bit-back whimpers and tears welling in his eyes, Nineteen eventually managed the position, the back of the wall supporting him greatly in so. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">However; just as he sat, that was when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">By the door stood a young woman dressed in the same, awfully white lab coat that almost everyone here seemed to be wearing. She wore a cream bottomed shirt underneath, her blonde hair tied in a loose braid and piercing blue eyes staring right into his.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And what was it… concern? Worry? Fear? She must view him as some sort of monster. All scientists must, considering he and others like him were locked away and experimented on like guinea pigs.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Still, there was something about the way she looked at him. He couldn’t quite put words to it. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Oh, forgive me,” she suddenly said, scoffing and shaking her head. Her voice was soothing and surprisingly pleasant as she spoke again. “I’m not used to seeing someone so incredibly… </span> <span class="s4"><em>frail.</em> </span><span class="s2">But um… how are you feeling?”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen didn’t answer. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Right, sorry… Dumb question.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The blonde woman slowly began to walk towards Nineteen, but his Spidey Sense yelled </span> <span class="s4"> <em>DANGERDANGERDANGER</em></span><span class="s2"><em>-</em> at the back of his head so quickly he pulled his feet up and away from her.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Though his right leg wouldn’t move and he was instead met by a terrible pain launching itself through the whole bone. He let out a pathetic groan, but still attempted to retreat back into his self-defensive huddle, backed up as far as the wall let him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly it was like all the pain in his body had been completely replaced with fear, eyes wide and breaths hitching in his chest, legs trembling and pulse going a million miles an hour.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He may not be able to talk much, but he could still manage to make a statement– and this one was plain and simple.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Stay away. Don’t touch me.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nineteen’s chest continued to heave, each inhale coming with a rattling in his chest that sounded thick and suffocating, his cheeks damp from slow, silent tears. He was </span> <em> <span class="s4">terrified</span><span class="s2">.</span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Please,” he tried, but his throat hurt so badly, his vocal cords so injured from the shocks and tubes his voice only came out as a whisper. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen was spent, drained and exhausted and probably nowhere near capable of standing or undergoing their cruel procedures again, unless they wanted him dead. He didn’t want to die… He just wanted to rest.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Please. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nineteen, I’m not going to hurt you,” She held out her palm towards him, as if that would prove anything, speaking as if he was a wild tiger. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy wasn’t so convinced. He kept staring at her like a petrified rabbit, too afraid to move even the slightest of muscle. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"No more," Nineteen breathed out again, truly trying to speak louder but it wouldn’t come.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Brows furrowed, the doctor kept her gaze steady on him. She was an open book, he noted. Her face completely showed her curiosity, her worry for him. The concern and confusion. Still, despite his anger for her and this place, Nineteen was just as curious. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">She wasn’t anything like he’d expected. Most of the scientists were ruthless. Impatient. </span> <span class="s4"><em>Bad.</em> </span><span class="s2">They would cut through his skin and watch him bleed without it affecting them in any way whatsoever. He would scream when they didn’t use anesthesia, yet they would continue as if they were deaf. He was just something that didn’t feel, something that wasn’t really alive, something that wasn’t </span> <span class="s4"> <em>human.</em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Just a little lab rat with a number. His screams just meant to cut deeper, to fill him with more drugs.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Not to </span> <span class="s4"> <em>stop. </em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">However, this woman… She seemed to actually care. It reminded him awfully of someone. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Shhh,” she cooed. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Try to calm down. No more experiments today, alright? Not for a while.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">At those news, Nineteen leaned his head back and resigned himself to whatever fate that was in store for him now. He stopped struggling and blinked, feeling the tears shed from his eyes and roll down his cheeks. He forced his tense body to relax and the panic in his chest to subside, but kept his left knee up.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"><em>No more experiments today.</em> </span>
  <span class="s2">News like that shouldn't make him feel so happy and relieved. But he was, and he let out a shaky breath to it too. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The woman slowly and carefully put her hand on Nineteen’s head, and though he flinched at the touch, he let her. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">She began to stroke his dark brown, curly strands, her hand gentle to the touch. It felt nice. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Comforting</em></span><span class="s2"><em>.</em> She brushed a lock of curls out of his eyes, and he closed them and tried to calm his still rapid heart. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Who are you?” he asked. Despite how low he spoke, the doctor had heard him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m Dr. Martin, but you can call me Anne. I’m here to check up on you and change your bandages. You know, all the boring medical stuff you probably go through a dozen times.” She finished off her joke with a little nervous laugh. Nineteen returned the smile as much as he could, though he wasn’t sure if it was any visible at all.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With a huff, Anne withdrew her hand and walked up to Nineteen’s side with a plastic bag filled with a transparent fluid. He knew she could probably kill him right now if she wanted to. He would stand no chance fighting back. Was she actually planning something?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He frowned, keeping his gaze on the woman. However, she only switched it with the one that already hung on the hook above his bed, then proceeded to pull a swivel chair up to Nineteen’s side and sat down.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“There,” she sighed and looked at him with a smile. “You ready?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen said nothing. Instead he had his eyes dead set on her as she stuck her hand in the pocket of her lab coat, worried she was going to pull up something dangerous. She seemed to be noticing his unease as her moves grew slower, one palm towards him again as she revealed nothing but a… penlight. Nineteen looked away relieved.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Calm down. She’s not gonna hurt you.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Now, I’m just going to shine this in your eyes,” Anne said, showing him the penlight. “It’s a flashlight. Nothing more, nothing less. Would that be alright with you?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen watched her for a moment. Why was she even asking him for permission? No one asked him for his permission on anything. He couldn’t remember the last time he got to decide for himself, so without much hesitance he gave her a little nod. It was going to happen anyway, so why fight it? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He allowed her to flash it from one eye to the next, revealing just how red-rimmed his eyes were. The doctor was visibly bothered by it, to which Nineteen couldn’t quite understand. Wasn’t she used to seeing people like this? And was he really that bad? It hurt, yeah. It was awful, and his vision was noticeably worse. Though Anne had to be smart enough to see his eyes weren’t the biggest issue right now. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When she gently touched the rims of his eyes, Nineteen could feel just how puffy they had become. He winched a little and she pulled back, concern drawn across every expression she made. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You have a bad eye infection,” Anne informed and leaned back. The boy didn’t even do as much as flinch; He only watched as the doctor pulled something up from the pocket of her lab coat again. It looked like a bottle of eye drops, and she brought it up for him to look properly. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“These are eye drops. Nothing dangerous.” She gave him a soft smile. “It’s gonna help you feel better, alright? I promise.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy only nodded. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Unscrewing the cap took only a second, but once Anne raised the bottle and tilted his chin up, that was where the problem began.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen struggled in her hold, frowning as he blinked up at the tip of the bottle over his face. “Sit still, dear,” she said calmly, managing to get one drop in before Nineteen hissed and tried to pull back. <em>God,</em> it stung!</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Buddy. Don’t blink so much, please,” Anne murmured, tightening her grip on his chin so Nineteen was effectively trapped.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>Just get through this,</em> </span> <span class="s2">he told himself through gritted teeth. </span> <span class="s4"><em>Pull yourself together, for god’s sake. This is nothing— it’ll only last a second.</em> </span> <span class="s2">He swallowed so hard it hurt, sitting carefully still so Anne was able to finish with the rest of the eyedrops. She screwed the cap back on the tiny bottle and slipped it back into her pocket, giving Nineteen a sweet beam. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“There you go. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She said and clasped her hands together, eyes filled with such enthusiasm and care for a person in a way Nineteen had never seen before. It was confusing— he couldn't understand her, but returned the smile nonetheless. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Now, she continued. “Would it be alright if I moved your blanket down? To change your bandages.” Nineteen only nodded again. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Both of her gloved hands reached for the top of his blanket that had previously rested just below his shoulders. Her cold hands carefully wrapped around it and gently pulled it down to his navel, revealing his bare chest. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His bare chest, the same chest that was covered with perfectly incised scars and wounds, some more recent than the other. White bandages and gauzes were hastily wrapped around him so he wouldn’t bleed to death, pieces of cotton lazily taped here and there to cover the most recent cuts. Many of them were stained with blood, some with the crimson liquid still trying to seep through. It was obvious the doctor wasn’t enjoying the sight of it all. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Something must’ve caught her attention, because she reached for the blanket again and pulled one side just far enough down to reveal parts of his hip. Nineteen’s gaze fell upon it, his stomach churning upon the view. His chest was nothing compared to it; this was truly </span> <span class="s4"> <em>horrifying. </em> </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Both blood and bruises attempted to flee from the obviously infected wound on his hip, though the crimson bandages covered most of it. The doctor began to slowly remove the stained bandage, and as soon as it was off Nineteen could see it properly. To be honest, it was nasty. Scratch that, it was probably the most disgusting and horrifying thing he’d seen in his <em>life.</em> Even now, red liquid was slowly oozing out of the little wound, the hip being a </span> <span class="s4">mass </span> <span class="s2">of purple bruises that had turned into a sickly yellow, spread around all from the wound. It was almost alien compared to his chest. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The memories came flooding back to him as he kept looking. Lying on the cold, metal table, the drill digging into his bones. The terrible pain he would never forget.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“God…” the woman trailed off. Nineteen only kept looking at her with tearful eyes. </span> <span class="s4"> <em>Yeah</em></span><span class="s2"><em>,</em> he thought. </span> <span class="s4"><em>I know.</em> </span> <span class="s2">Then his eyes fell on the floor. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey,” Anne said, shaking off her own thoughts. “Look at me.” Nineteen hesitantly met her deep, sympathetic gaze. He reflected it, mixed with a little surprise. Though it quickly vanished, as he looked away, raising his other hand to shakily run it through his hair. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nineteen. You’re gonna be alright. I promise you, okay?” She said. He looked back at her with red cheeks and his quivering lips under his teeth, as if he was about to break at any given moment. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">She lightly squeezed his shoulder and gave a pained smile. “I’m gonna look after you. We’re gonna fix this. You’ll be okay. You’ll be </span> <span class="s4"> <em>safe</em></span><span class="s2"><em>.</em>” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen looked away again. He didn’t want her or anyone to see him like this. He had to let the numbness take him again.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">”I promise.” Anne continued so stubbornly, sounded more truthful than he had ever heard anyone before. She gave his shoulder a few strokes, her touch being ever so comforting.  “No one is gonna be seeing you for a while— well, except for me. That means you’ll have a bit of a break until you’re cleared to have recovered from the last procedures.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Sniffing, Nineteen looked down now to hide the tear that rolled down his eye. He chose not to respond.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The doctor gave his shoulder a little pat. “Buddy, look at me.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Why was she so determined about this?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen shook his head, so Anne bowed her head down so she could see him properly. He knew she was just trying to be sweet, but no one should have to see him like this. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Nineteen.</em> You heard me, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He nodded as fast as his hurt head let him... which probably wasn’t <em>that</em> fast. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">”Good. It’s gonna be alright, buddy.” She ruffled a hand through his curls. “Now, let’s get you all sorted out, shall we?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen only nodded at that, though he wasn’t so sure he believed her. He lifted his head now, watching as she grabbed something from the drawers behind.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You might want to hold my hand for this,” Anne said. Judging by her cocky smile, he took it as a joke and he returned the gesture.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Do I look like a five year old to you?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Anne’s smile grew a little wider. “As you wish.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Slowly and tenderly, the woman pressed an antiseptic wipe against the damage of his leg, to which he immediately flinched and let out an involuntary cry as pain blazed through the wound. His hands were shaking and he had to bite back a groan. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m sorry, but I told you it would hurt.” Anne seemed visibly affected by the boy’s state. “I’ll be quick.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She placed it down again, quickly washing the wound while Nineteen tried his best to ignore the pain that stabbed him over and over. Anne’s efforts were rather futile as more blood kept pouring out the more she tried to clean it. He groaned, feeling a blood taste in his mouth from the amount of cries he’d held back. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">At least now he could see the wound properly. It was deep and raw, the edges jagged. And it was <em>still</em> bleeding. Despite that there was some fresh skin by the corners of the big wound, it was overrun by the dark, dark blood that was covering up the wound from revealing how deep it actually was. The stitches had been ripped so the wound had reopened, and there were some small pieces of bandage that clung to the injury for dear life.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I was told your hip was fine,” he heard Anne mutter. He wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or herself. “I’ll need to stitch it up again.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The process passed fairly quickly, or so it seemed for Nineteen who was brought back to reality by Anne calling his name. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“</span><span class="s4">Nineteen.</span><span class="s2">”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Huh?” His head jolted up, frantically looking around before it landed on his hip. Anne had removed the old thread and cleaned the wound as best as she could, which was more than good enough, new black thread looped evenly through his skin and neatly closed the wound. Where there had been nothing but blood and struggle, it now looked neat and clean as the woman worked on winding bandages around his burning hip. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You look awfully pale.” Anne brought the back up her hand up to Nineteen’s forehead, looking at him with those i’m-so-worried-about-you eyes that she had.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“And you have a fever,” she said, retreating her hand. “I need to finish this up, bud. But just stay with me, alright? Just relax.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen nodded, resting his head back against the wall again. “I’m staying…” he mumbled, his eyelids so heavy he had to close his eyes again. Darkness threatened to take him, and he was close to letting it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The rest of the process became foggy, reality fading in and out. When Anne unraveled the bandages and cotton on his chest, she did it slowly, length by length. It didn’t matter how many layers there were, she went through them with the same patience and caution. It brought an odd sensation of safety to him, though he could barely feel or pay attention to it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bit by bit, as the doctor revealed the lines of Nineteen’s scars and wounds, hideous and sometimes red beneath the white, she’d brush her fingers against some of them, feather-light and fleeting. She tossed the filthy bandages in a dustbin, then proceeded to clean his wounds with another antiseptic wipe. She was just as careful when she wrapped him in new bandages, like the world hinged on making it perfect; not too tight and not too loose, neat and clean.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">When she finished up with the bandages, Nineteen let out a big exhale. Already he felt better. </span> <span class="s4"><em>Thank God she’s done,</em> </span> <span class="s2">he thought. It had stung, and it had been bad. The amount of hisses and groans he had let out, and the blood on his lips said it all. Thankfully his tiredness had made it easier. It had almost been a painkiller in itself, and made it easier to only be half conscious. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How are you feeling?” She asked in quiet concern.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“S’ alright.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Anne brought her hand to his forehead again. “Still warm,” she sighed. “Here.” She handed Nineteen a bottle of water. “I haven’t touched it. You should drink. Small sips.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy cocked his head to one side. “I can’t take that.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s alright, dear,” she said with a smile, soft as ever. “It’s just water. Please.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“But it’s yours-“ </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“</span><span class="s4">Nineteen</span></em>
  <span class="s2"><em>.”</em> Anne gave him a stern look. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and grabbed the bottle, letting his stubbornness slide for once. Never in his life had water tasted so good— but at the same time brought so much discomfort. His throat protested with every swallow, but fuck it, he was drinking. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">After swallowing what felt like gallons of water, Nineteen gave the woman the half empty bottle back, already feeling much better. Anne must have sensed this when she took the bottle and placed it on the table, giving him a smile. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The doctor tried to make small talk as she next checked on the rest of Nineteen’s vitals. "So, I heard you took out a whole swarm of trained soldiers. Pretty impressive, if I may say." </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen let out a little hoarse chuckle to that. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh my,” Anne said. She leaned back and glanced at him with a frown on her face and her mouth forming an O. “Was that a laugh I just heard?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Shut up,” he whispered, a small smile forming on his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It was impressive though! You really showed ‘em.” Now it sounded like the doctor was encouraging a five year old, but it somehow brought more comfort to the teenager. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I‘m glad I wasn’t one of them, to say the least.” Anne eyed him playfully, but Nineteen just scoffed. Honestly, he wasn’t in the mood for small talk as he just wanted to get this over with so he could sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"Hold still, dear, I'll just take a blood sample." Anne gave Nineteen time to brace himself and look away before the needle went in.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">After the doctor had finished up, she turned back to the boy and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “There you go! That’s it, Nines.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Wait, <em>what? </em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He didn’t care about anything she had mentioned earlier— what had she just called him?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“</span><span class="s4">Nines?</span></em>
  <span class="s2"><em>”</em> The boy repeated. The nickname felt odd on his tongue, but vaguely familiar. He hadn’t heard that since… </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Colin used to call me that.” The words came without him even realizing what he had said. Barely more than a raspy, little whisper, but Anne had heard him. Her gaze was dead set on the floor and he knew he had hit a sensitive spot. Yet, he kept pushing. He wanted answers— he </span> <span class="s4"><em>needed</em> </span> <span class="s2">them. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Do you know him?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Anne looked back at him. Her previous enthusiasm had completely vanished, replaced with a sort of dread. “Yeah,” she said reluctantly. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He watched her with curious eyes, urging her to tell him more. Waiting patiently as she eyed the cameras in the corners of the room, there didn’t seem to be coming much more of a response. After some time she spoke again, but “Colin was a good man,” was all that came. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Was? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What’s that supposed to mean?” He dared himself to ask. She gave him a strict look, the type that made him want to disappear underneath his blanket, but the curiosity in him kept him going steady and strong. Brows raised, he spoke again. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Is he </span> <em> <span class="s4">dead?</span><span class="s2">”</span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Colin doesn’t work here anymore,” her words came slowly, her tone that had been soft and soothing completely gone. Nineteen was visibly taken aback by her voice, and she let out a sigh and shakily tucked a loose straw of blonde hair behind her ear. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, looking back at him with apologetic eyes. “But we just… we can’t talk about this.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Is he dead?” He repeated. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No, he’s not.” Anne sighed and pulled her light blue gloves off her hands, throwing them in the bin. “He’s doing fine. We just… There’s been a-“ </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But Anne was cut off as the door suddenly and abruptedly opened, chiming every so loudly before. Someone moved into his field of vision, momentarily blocking out the bright overhead light. Someone who looked strangely familiar, even if he could only make out the outline of a shadow.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It dawned upon the teenager as the man took a step into the room, just who it was. With his expensive tailored suit - though without the jacket -  and determined eyes, Dr. Graves stood, live in the flesh with his three musketeers of guards behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It had been a while now since the last time Nineteen had seen him. To be perfectly frank, he didn’t mind it at all. There was something about the man that brought him great unease. How he had come in so suddenly, just when he had started to uncover truths— it couldn’t just be pure coincidence. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Dr. Martin,” the cool voice said, his eyes landing on Nineteen. “Would you come with me? You’re needed elsewhere right now.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh yeah, um, sure. I was just finishing up anyway.” She turned to the boy with a sad smile. “I’ll come by later tonight with medications for you. Until then just rest, alright?” A small, sweet smile crossed her lips. He nodded, though he couldn’t get his eyes off the man standing in the doorframe. She patted his leg and then she rose from the chair. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Just go ahead,” Dr. Graves commanded. “I want to talk to him alone.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Coming Out of My Cage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <strong> <span class="s3">DAY 64 | 10:21 p.m.</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s3"><strong>AS</strong> <strong>SOON </strong></span> <span class="s2">as Anne stepped out of the room and the door shut closed with a loud thud, it became completely still. Nineteen scanned the man’s face for a reaction; the silence hung in the air in the suspended moment, making the boy’s blood run cold. </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">A smirk drew across Dr. Graves’ features as he sauntered further in. With his eyes set on him, Nineteen couldn’t help but feel his stomach continuing to churn. There was something awfully unsettling about this man— he seemed </span> <span class="s4">different </span> <span class="s2">now.</span> <span class="s2">Impatient. </span> <span class="s4"><em>Tired</em>. </span><span class="s2">His usually styled hair hung in his face, as if it was a strange sight in itself seeing him without the jacket to his expensive suit. One thing was for sure: Nineteen didn’t like him. At all. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves’ smirk grew as the boy eyed him cautiously. "Nineteen, Nineteen, Nineteen," His voice was saccharine sweet. "I hope you’ve been treated well since the last time we spoke." </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">With his chin slightly tilted up, Nineteen stared right back at him, stone faced, unimpressed. </span> <em> <span class="s4">Are you serious?</span> </em></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Allow me to say, son,” Dr. Graves said as he took another step forward. “You really are a </span> <span class="s4">fascinating </span> <span class="s2">creature.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen only continued to glare.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“All your senses— smell, touch, taste, hearing, sight, sound, all enhanced to superhuman levels. Even a <em>sixth</em> one, warning you of incoming dangers. You dance around attackers without even giving a thought to what you’re doing. Your unique biology, the incredible healing and endurance. It’s truly... <em>incredible</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You know, I’m flattered,” Nineteen said sarcastically, his voice croaked and strained from disuse. “But really, I’m just like everybody else.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, you’re far from everybody else,” Dr. Graves replied. “All this… imagine how it would be to the military. Imagine <em>soldiers</em> being able to dodge bullets, or use the techniques that <em>you</em> used on our own men. I don’t think there’s anything quite like you, Nineteen-“ </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Aw, all these compliments,” Nineteen interrupted.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Not even a flicker of the man’s expression changed before he continued on with his speech about how </span> <span class="s4">inhuman </span> <span class="s2">the boy was. “Your blood could cut recovery times in half, </span> <em> <span class="s4">save</span> </em> <span class="s2"> people. </span> <em><span class="s4">Save</span> <span class="s4">lives</span></em><span class="s2"><em>.</em> Imagine that.” </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Save </span> <em> <span class="s4">you, </span></em><span class="s2">you mean.” Nineteen cocked his head to the side, brows raised. </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Save the </span> <em> <span class="s4">world</span></em><span class="s2"><em>,</em>” Dr. Graves corrected and began to slowly pace around in the room. “Before you came, the world was doomed. Crumpling to pieces, all at the hands of our pathetic world leaders. It was rotting— it </span> <em> <span class="s4">is </span> </em> <span class="s2">rotting. But now we can do something about it. </span><span class="s4">You </span> <span class="s2">will do something about it, Nineteen.”</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen coughed. The taste in his mouth was acidic and sour, burning his throat. Nausea danced in his body as well as his fever, and he groaned. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“</span> <em> <span class="s4">Ugh</span> </em> <span class="s2"><em>,</em>” Nineteen said, grimacing. “You should stop talking— your voice is making me sick.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You weren’t born like this, were you?” Dr. Graves stopped, turned to him and suddenly asked, ignoring the teen.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Anger panged in his chest at that, his eyes drilling into the older man’s gray pair. It made him shut up and it must’ve surely been the man’s intention. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Right.” A crocodile smile grew on Dr. Graves' lips. “<em>You don’t remember.</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nineteen was giving him his best death-glare now. He had lost so much. Everything. </span> <em><span class="s4">Oh</span></em><span class="s2">, how he wanted it all to end. He was seeing red, fury and frustration boiling in his blood. Dr. Graves’ smirk just grew bigger. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">"You want to know why you're here?" He finally asked, tone conversational.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The boy couldn’t help but make another sarcastic quirp. “To make buddies, I’m assuming.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves gave him a stare with blank eyes. “Arts and crafts?” Nineteen tried. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">"There’s a little girl here.” He noticed how quickly the man lost patience in him. “</span> <em> <span class="s4">Was</span> </em> <span class="s2"><em>,</em>” the doctor corrected himself.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4"> <em>Dr. Graves stood on the other side of the glass when the beeping of the monitors began to pick up, the smile on his face vanished. Lily’s monitors were racing, alarming the assistant director and the rest of the staff. Suddenly the young girl began to twitch uncontrollably on the bed. A group of doctors swarmed around her and attempted to hold her steady and calm, but it was for no use. Medications were injected into the child but nothing seemed to be working. She kept twitching hard and violently, obviously reacting to what had just been injected into her veins only a day earlier. The man could only watch what was happening before his very eyes, obviously disturbed by the horrifying scene. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">What next tore through the air made his blood run cold. The little girl had woken up and was now screaming, sending such high pitched screeches that pained and echoed through their ears. It was a surprise in itself that the glass still stood intact. Lily struggled in the grips of the doctors, the monitors beeping so quickly they seemed on the verge of exploding. It was chaos. absolute, downright chaos. It was when the screams suddenly died down and the flatline of the monitors filled the air, Dr. Graves realized what had happened. With Lily lying limp on the bed, he figured he had seen enough. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Her name was Lily,” he said. “You're here because of <em>her.</em> Because of other people like her. So their lives can </span> <span class="s4">finally <em>mean</em> something. </span> <span class="s2">I meant what I told you that first day. You are a part of something bigger than yourself, a scientific discovery that will change mankind forever— you should be </span> <em> <span class="s4">proud.</span></em><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, my!” An overly enthusiastic smile plastered onto his face. “That was such a beautiful speech. Aren’t I a lucky little sod,” he snapped back bitterly. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nineteen was honestly under zero impressions that he had not been defeated. Here he was, lying on a hospital bed in an underground facility in </span> <span class="s4">who knows where, </span> <span class="s2">bleeding through bandages, full of tubes and wires and feeling like crap from all the shit that had been done to him. It didn’t really get more defeatef than that. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It wasn’t because despite being at day 64, his pride was too big to stop running his mouth off. He just couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth and saying things— it was sort of a nervous habit… </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Of course, Nineteen might die soon anyway. He was fully aware of that fact, though it didn’t make being here any less scary. If they got bored enough of torturing him, or found out that he actually wouldn’t prove useful to them anyway. Although perhaps dying quickly would be better than being trapped here as Hydra’s lab rat. It’s not like anyone was going to come rescue him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves remained silent for several seconds before he responded. “You would think that over two months in here might humble a boy… but you seem just as arrogant as ever.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Oh, forgive me— I don't exactly remember signing my name up for the </span><span class="s4">human</span> <span class="s4">torture</span><span class="s2"> school club.” He smiled for effect. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dr. Graves frowned, studying Nineteen. His tone became less attached and more cold, just as his demaneor. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Do you think we enjoy all this? Watching you suffer? It’s all for a reason, and very soon you’ll understand that.” He sighed. “You have a gift, son. A quite remarkable one, actually. The thing is though… you don’t </span> <em> <span class="s4">deserve </span> </em> <span class="s2">it. You’re nothing but a lab rat. You never earned it— </span> <em> <span class="s4">You </span> </em> <span class="s2">shouldn’t have it.”</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s4">Ouch. </span> <span class="s2">Alright, that stung.</span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Let me guess, you think </span> <em> <span class="s4">you </span> </em> <span class="s2">should.” </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“</span><em><span class="s4">Hydra </span> </em> <span class="s2">should!” Dr. Graves corrected. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen couldn't help the derisive snort at that. “Right.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The man before him offered a little shrug. “Never think that what you are enduring is for fun," He emphasized, before pausing. "Well, not for me, anyway. I'm not sure about Dr. Harrison. Her bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired— that’s at least one thing we can agree on, hmm?"</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen didn't answer. He wasn't even sure he was supposed to. Dr. Graves wasn't one for idle conversation. Mostly, he seemed utterly disinterested in Nineteen, and seemed to mostly exist to remind Dr. Harrison that yes, Nineteen was needed alive.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">So he remained silent. The sudden spark of interest must’ve surely only been related to his chat with Anne earlier. Nineteen was no idiot; he knew when he was barking up the wrong tree. That didn’t mean he was going to stop, though; he wanted answers. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“You’re not getting out of here, Nineteen,” Dr. Graves said, glancing at the boy in the bed. “This </span> <em> <span class="s4">Colin </span> </em> <span class="s2">is not coming to save you. He’s dead. </span> <em> <span class="s4">You </span> </em> <span class="s2">made sure of that.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4">No… he’s not dead. Why would Anne lie? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen couldn’t even bear to look him in the eyes anymore. He let himself fall, allowed his courage to be washed away with a defeated chuckle as he shook his head. A tear threatened to spill from his eye but there was no way he was letting it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“He’s not dead,” he muttered under his breath. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“The thing is, though, Nineteen…” Dr. Graves seemed awfully comfortable with his words as he leaned onto the bedframe with his hands, looking down at the boy with raised brows. “...No one is coming for you. Not even the mighty clowns that call themselves </span> <span class="s4"><em>The Avengers</em>.” </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“The </span> <em> <span class="s4">what?</span></em><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Dr. Graves ignored him. “For your own good, you should learn to get used to your new life already. Stop questioning our methods and start cooperating instead. No more escapes, because you know you will only fail at those, just as you have the last </span> <em><span class="s4">three times.</span></em><span class="s2">”  </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He paused, and Nineteen could see the grip he had on the edge of his bed tighten, the metal crumpling under his very fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“I’m going to drain you,” the man said suddenly and straightened himself. At this point it seemed like he was saying anything to add fuel to Nineteen’s raging fire, and he hated that it was working. “I'm going to drain you of every last drop of blood there is in your little, fragile body. I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure the future of Hydra. You’ll understand what you’re a part of one day. That the </span> <em><span class="s4">end </span></em> <span class="s2">justifies the </span> <span class="s4"><em>means</em>.</span><span class="s2">” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen finally looked back at the man, his eyes telling just how much anger that was coursing through his veins. “Why don’t you just kill me?” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">“Kill you?” Dr. Graves shook his head. His mouth open to continue his justifiable psychopath monologue, “No… I don’t wanna do that. We’ll keep you alive so you can continue to give us the results we need. You’ll be taken… </span> <span class="s4"><em>special</em>… </span> <span class="s2">care of. And in return, I might just let you live to see it all come together.” </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A sickening smile formed on Dr. Graves' face, and Nineteen felt the sudden urge to throw up.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It took a week before the doctors cleared Nineteen to get out of bed by himself. He was immediately taken to a showerroom. Finally; a hot shower, a chance to scrub himself clean. He would lie if he didn’t say he was happy about this, and it was a strange feeling; but a good one. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Hydra had an impressively shiny and high-tech bathroom— even for him. Nineteen littered the floor with his bloody bandages as he peeled them off of himself.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Most of his wounds were healed by this point. The skin has grown back on his chest and arms. Most of the cuts and slices had closed up. Even his hip had healed surprisingly well. Stitches still held the wound together, but the bruising had gone down a whole lot, just as the swelling and overall nasty look to it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With a good amount of trepidation, Nineteen pressed his fingers onto his hip, gently at first, then harder and harder until the bruises became stronger. It was strange though: he couldn’t feel anything. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">All he felt was </span> <em> <span class="s4">numbness</span><span class="s2">. </span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Which, well, made sense. Nineteen couldn’t help but laugh a little at himself. God, what had he become?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, winching at the sight of himself. Nineteen didn’t look the slightest amount of good; He probably stank from miles away, though thankfully he was going to get that fixed now, and his dark, curly hair had grown long and hung in his face. It didn’t bother him, because at least it hid how absolutely wrecked he looked. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Dark rings under his bruised eyes that no longer held hope, pale skin and purple lips. He was fairly certain there wasn’t a single body part that wasn’t decorated with perfect scars of the horrible procedures he went through daily, and he was certain they weren’t going to ever truly disappear. Though thankfully, his clothes hid most of that. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And then, that goddamn shock collar. It was fairly new; as the scientists believed it would be a far easier way to control him. Perhaps they were right, but he didn’t like it at all. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He stared at the purple bruises that stretched out from it, spreading from the matte black collar like a disease. He was pretty sure what was hidden underneath it was far worse than anything he had seen on himself so far. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">When he thought about it… .in a certain way… he was actually lucky.</span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He was lucky to </span> <span class="s4">still be <em>alive. </em></span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly hit with another wave of panic. In his mind, he kept being sent back to that lab. He couldn’t remember the last good night of sleep he had without entering that nightmare. And the nightmares bled into his waking thoughts. He could be perfectly fine one moment, and then the next he was vividly flashing back to the lab table. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And the fact that he was still here and was going to be sent back there before he even knew it…  </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nineteen shivered and looked away from the mirror. He couldn’t escape. He just wanted to be the person that </span> <span class="s4">never </span> <span class="s2">lived through all this, so he didn’t have to remember it. His body would heal. But he would never be someone other than this. This was <em>permanent.</em></span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But he was fine, right? He’s okay. He’s just… amazing.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s alive. That’s a win… at least. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  
</p><hr/><p class="p3">
  
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Two months later, Nineteen snapped to consciousness, jerking upright on the cold floor. The room wobbled around him; walls melting and he could barely even see, but he recognized his surroundings.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was back in his cell. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Grunting, he rolled to his side and tried to stand up, but his body roughly fell to the floor and he couldn’t help but bite back a cry of pain. God, everything hurt. He gasped, lying on the floor all crumpled up for a moment, on the verge of blacking out. Every muscle hurt- literally from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet - and a full year of sleep would do his pounding migraine a real solid. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">He forced himself up again through the protests of his own body. Though he barely managed to stand for long, as his legs gave out underneath him and he fell </span> <span class="s4">again </span> <span class="s2">with a loud thud. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly pain was all Nineteen could feel.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Real, burning, all-too familiar <em>pain. </em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Each inhale sent raging fire through his body, his mouth filled with a bloody taste from holding back thr cries of agony, and the vomit that threathened to bubble up his throat. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes tightly to keep himself from making any sound. With a groan, he slowly tried to steady himself as he wondered if the sickos watching him through their bullshit cameras were entertained. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He crawled towards the bed and leaned heavily against it. Pathetic whimpers escaped his lips as he willed himself to calm down.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">With the last of his strength, he managed to pull himself onto his bed, collapsing heavily onto it. He was sure to curl on one side just in case he vomited in his sleep. They had pumped him so full of drugs he could open a damn pharmacy. Weakly, he coughed. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“You need to think.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen twirled around, gasping and blinking at empty air. His gaze landed on the figure that stood by the entrance of his cell. He would lie if he said he was surprised; the hallucination had toyed with the last strings of hope wrapped around his heart, for several days now. He was going mad, he knew it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">Fucking hallucinations.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Curly brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, worried eyes drilling right into his own. A denim jacket and an outstretched hand.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4">It was <em>MJ. </em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, fuck. Not again.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over, burying his head in the pillow. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“You reach for answers but you fail to touch them, Nines.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">At that, the boy plopped back onto his back and sat up straight on the bed with a pained grunt, giving the girl a look. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“What? Isn’t that what they call you? Nines?” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nineteen said nothing. Instead, he slowly rose up from the bed, ignoring how his knees buckled underneath him and almost sent him to the floor as he moved towards the sink. Leaning heavily onto it, he took a few mouthfuls of water. The cold liquid was like nothing he’d ever tasted before, instantly curing his desert throat and stood in great contrast to how warm he felt. Right now, it seemed to be the biggest luxury in the world, and the biggest he would ever receive. It was </span> <em> <span class="s4">amazing.</span>  </em></p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“Time is running out.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">MJ’s echoing voice brought him out of his thoughts. The high-tech automatic sink stopped the water as he turned around to face her, wiping an arm at his mouth. “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“It’s all there to be encrypted in the scrolls.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Was the hallucination trying to tell him something? Fuck, he was actually losing it. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen gave her a forced smile, his voice overly soft through the raspiness as he spoke. “I’m sorry, could you be more clear?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“I’m trying, but you’re the one in charge.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The smile disappeared just as soon as it came, his tone too. “You just like fucking with me.” He turned around and went back to the bed, feeling the relief in his bones as he sat down. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“Maybe. But honestly, it’s time to get out of here.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’m gonna sleep.” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“All you do is sleep.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He ignored the shorter figure before him and forced his eyes shut. “I need to stop talking to myself.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>“Great idea. It’s time to wake up, Nines.”</em> </span> <span class="s2">She stepped further into the room and sat down on the side of his bed. </span> <span class="s4"><em>“What, you think you’re fucking miserable now?”</em> </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen looked at her and swallowed, but he said nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“Four months moping in this hole like a coward. It’s no surprise you haven’t gotten out of here yet.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That was finally decided to speak. “Don’t you think I’ve tried to get out?” He spat back at her. “It’s all just in vain! It’s… it’s not worth it.” </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>“You’re a quitter,”</em> </span> <span class="s2">MJ continued on as if he had said nothing, standing up from the bed. </span> <em> <span class="s4">“Colin would be disappointed.” </span> </em></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Nineteen swallowed hard. Okay, that one hurt. He stood up too, a sneer on his face, clenching his fists in fury. “I’m not a quitter— for all I know he‘s </span><span class="s4"><em>dead!</em>”</span> <span class="s2"> The frustration was evident in his voice.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“Oh, for crying out loud. How is that your fault? Look at yourself!” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">His eyes suddenly grew hot and he had to look away. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“You just wanted a reason to give up. To give up on me.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Shut up!” He yelled the words, taking a step daringly towards her. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s4"><em>“Surely I must mean something to you since I’m the only one you remember,”</em> </span> <span class="s2">she continued as if his words didn’t touch her. </span> <em> <span class="s4">“The pity party is over. It’s time to start acting, to stop being such a sore loser.” </span> </em></p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">Loser.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The simple word flicked a lever in his mind. His next breath sawed a roughness that robbed him of speech, so he said nothing. Only stared at her, stared as memories were unlocking in his mind. Though instead of digging deeper, he shut himself away.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You aren’t real,” he growled, his temper cooling off just as he calmed down. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s4">“I don’t have to be.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">Oh great. </span> <span class="s4">Riddles. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Fuck off,” he said, his voice barely more than a tired whisper. To his surprise, the hallucination disappeared. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">With a sigh, Nineteen sat back down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. “Shit,” he muttered, hands pulling at his hair. What had MJ meant? The puzzle piece was starting to make more sense, but the pieces still wouldn’t fit together and it was too unclear for him to decipher. Bits and pieces of memories flashed before his eyes, some of two teenage boys Nineteen couldn’t recognize. Another girl with blonde hair, a logo and a name. </span> <em> <span class="s4">Stark.</span> </em><span class="s2">An older woman with the same brown eyes he had, and then of course that red and blue suit.</span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s4">What did it <em>mean? </em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nineteen shook his head, laying down on the bed and snuggling deep underneath his blanket. He lied and tossed around for hours, caught up in overthinking and plagued by guilt until exhaustion took control of him, and he passed out. </span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">It went like any other night, really. Suddenly minutes stuck in this place, undergoing cruel experiments upon experiments, stretched into hours, which again morphed into days. It was the same old every single day. The drugs they pumped into his system in hope that his heart wouldn’t one day give out, and the ridiculous tests they made him do. The fighting. The stupid white lab coats, turquoise clothing, or that goddamn expensive </span> <span class="s4">suit</span><span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">The anger. The frustration. The </span> <span class="s4">guilt </span> <span class="s2">and </span> <span class="s4">hopelessness. </span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Days stretched into weeks, weeks stretched into months. He knew one thing was for sure: he was never ever getting out of here. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That was, until an all too familiar face entered his cell. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Avengers... maybe a little foreshadowing, who knows? I’ll stop talking whoops</p><p>Please leave a comment below on what you think, all feedback is fantastic and gives me motivation to write chapters faster ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. PART II: New Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Now, here’s the good news for you,” Dr. Graves said and grit his teeth. Although Nineteen couldn’t hide any of his feelings of hope, it was clear that Dr. Graves wasn’t so pleased with saying his next words.</p><p>“You’re never going to see this place again.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! 💘 I just have to say I was completely blown away by the response the last chapter received. The feedback was just incredible... I can’t believe so many of you actually like my story so much! Aaahh!! I love you all!! ♥️♥️</p><p>We’re already at part two of this story, so fasten your seatbelts kids ‘cause this is gonna be one heck of a ride from here... This chapter is a little shorter than I usually write, but I hope it’s still enjoyable! And until next time, take care of yourselves and stay safe xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em> Meet me on the battlefield </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Even on the darkest night </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I will be your sword and shield, your camouflage </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And you will be mine </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> PART II </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>DAY 334 | 6.43 p.m.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>334 DAYS. </b>
</p><p>Eleven months. </p><p>He had spent almost a full year in here when the same, emotionless guards invited themselves into his little home of a cell. They forced him to his feet, handcuffed him and then he was pushed out into his real world.</p><p>Before he knew it, Nineteen sat trembling with exhaustion in one of the chairs in a testing room. Dr. Graves sat across from him, watching him carefully. He did not know what the look on his face meant, whether he had failed in the latest physical tests or not. Complete failure was not common for him, but it happened. Those were the worst days.</p><p>The Assistant Director gave a small nod to the guards, and Nineteen tensed automatically. But instead of advancing towards him, they left the room without question, leaving him and the other man alone together. He was not sure that was any better.</p><p>Across from him, Dr. Graves smiled, leaning closer to him over the table. <em> Why, </em> Nineteen wondered, <em> does he still sometimes try and appear friendly when anyone who had known him knew he was not? When </em> I <em> know he’s not? </em></p><p>“I have some news for you, Nineteen,” he broke the silence and said, only for another one to come. “These past months, my colleagues and I have taken a particular interest in you. Do you know why?”</p><p>A tiny, broken smile appeared on the boy’s lips. “I believe you’ve told me once or twice, yes.” His voice could barely be heard but it was too demanding to raise it any higher. A year may have passed but his sarcastic quirps seemed almost unbeatable at this point.   </p><p>“It is because you are<em> … stronger </em> than some of the other individuals we have been testing.” Dr. Graves answered the question himself. “You are an incredible creature, Nineteen. Truly remarkable. <em> Special</em>. You manage so much more than any of the other subjects, even with your abilities.” </p><p><em>Yadda, yadda, yadda.</em> <em>Come on, Graves, </em>Nineteen thought amusedly. <em>Confess your love for me already. </em></p><p>Nineteen had heard vague mentions before of these ‘other individuals,’ and had come to gather that he was not the only one in the facility. There were others here, others like him. But whatever else they were he had no idea. He had never seen them. And it was better not to question, because he would recieve no answer anyway. Nineteen locked gazes with the table. </p><p>Dr. Graves grew more serious then. “Everything we did for you, <em> to </em> you… it might not have made much sense. Perhaps it strictly wasn’t neccesary at all, because… well, we <em> failed</em>.” </p><p>That was when Nineteen looked up to meet the man’s eyes. What had he just said? </p><p>“You are a very dangerous boy, Nineteen. But you could certainly be useful. It’s a shame that’s never going to be in a way we originally planned to, because quite frankly, you are one of a kind. You’re so goddamn special we failed to create copies of you.” The man took another pause. </p><p>“Perhaps we would have succeeded, have we been granted more time. But the time has run out, and it’s a change of plans.” </p><p>For the first time in so long, Nineteen was <em> hopeful</em>. Excitement suddenly replaced so much exhaustion in his body, his eyes shining with the thoughts that wouldn’t stop circling around his mind. Was he getting out? Could freedom really be so close? </p><p>“Now, here’s the good news for you,” Dr. Graves said and grit his teeth. Although Nineteen couldn’t hide any of his feelings of hope, it was clear that Dr. Graves wasn’t so pleased with saying his next words.</p><p>“<em>You’re never going to see this place again.</em>” </p><p>Nineteen absorbed the words, jaws dropping so slightly because <em> could this be real? </em>Did this mean they were putting an end to the experiments? The corners of Peter's lips lifted and formed a small smile, something he hadn't shown in forever; it even felt foreign. He was sure he had not ever felt relief like this before. Was he actually getting out of here?</p><p><em> Freedom</em>. That was exactly what he had longed for in those dark, lost hours inside his cell. Freedom. The ability to choose his own path—something that had been stolen from him over and over again.</p><p>“Wipe off that smile, son,” Dr. Graves said, annoyance visibly tearing at him. “You’re still a part of Hydra. We aren’t done with you quite yet— you’ll be moved to another base of ours so your abilities can be tamed. You’ll be trained properly, and eventually when you’re older, you’ll be in full control of them. And that’s when you’ll be needed. Because, like I said, you are a very dangerous boy. And dangerous has its quirps.” </p><p>A frown replaced the smile on his face. “You need me to be dangerous?” What did that mean? However, at the thought of training… if he could use what they teach him, could he finally have a chance to get out of here, once and for all? </p><p>Dr. Graves smirked. “We need you to be powerful. But being dangerous has its benefits too. One day, you see, you and all the others like you will be able to help us fight against some very bad people. You will be a weapon for us.”</p><p>“A weapon?” Nineteen repeated. There was no way he was going to murder people for someone as evil as Hydra. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And who are these ‘bad people’?” </p><p>Dr. Graves smiled again, this time making no effort to try and fake any warmth. “That is not for you to know. But I thought we owed it to you, to tell you at least something after all this time…” Dr. Graves trailed off. Nineteen looked at him expectantly. </p><p>Suddenly the man’s tone changed. It was confusing; Nineteen wasn’t sure if he was being genuinely sincere this time or not. “Perhaps what we did to you will help shape you into a better soldier. Believe it or not, it was always for <em> your </em> benefit too. Either way, I’m sorry it came to how it was.” </p><p><em> Sorry? </em>Was he, really? Had Nineteen heard that right?</p><p>He rose, watching Nineteen as he did so. He went to the door where a masked guard stood waiting for him. In the doorway he paused, turning back to the boy at the table. “Just remember that the outside world is crueler than here. Hydra will always be your home, even when you think our actions might be unjustifiable at times. One day you’ll understand that we did what we had to do. That’s all you can.” </p><p>And with that he closed the heavy metal door, leaving Nineteen with a hundred more questions. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They came again for Nineteen a little before dawn. </p><p>Two guards. One called his name and demanded that he stood and faced the wall. He had gone through this exact thing for about a million times now, so without much reluctance he did what he was told. Eyeing the dim figure of MJ standing in the corner of his cell, he let himself be escorted away from the room he would never see again. </p><p>A moment later, about six heavily armed guards had circled around him, all walking in coerographed tempo through the hallways. Nineteen’s gaze grew sad as they passed Anne and a young raven-haired boy. Their gazes locked, and a sort of dread hitched in his chest at the look of the little guy. It was the first time he had ever caught a glimpse of anyone like him here.</p><p>He wondered idly what was going to happen to the him, but knew he was in no position to help. <em>One day,</em> he thought. Perhaps it was an useless thought, but he wanted to believe it. With a sigh, he looked away, not bearing to give any of them any further looks, though he wished he could at least thank Anne for everything. </p><p>They stopped when they reached a heavily fortified door. A big guard pressed his keycard to a little black box, it chimed and lit green, and the door opened to reveal an enormous warehouse. He walked through, and a guard behind Nineteen gave him a little nudge to go through too. </p><p>Nineteen looked around him at the massive Loading Bay in wonder and awe; it looked just as modern as the rest of the facility, but with much darker tones. Bright, yet dim lights lit everything up. Massive equipment and smaller concrete rooms were scattered throughout. The movements and the noises filled his head, just as the strong scents of motor oil, gunpowder, gasoline and old sweat, although the people were clean and their clothes were in good repair; they seemed <em> happy </em>. It made him wonder if they even knew what was going on in the same building, what he had gone through.</p><p>They came to a stop, but Nineteen was far too busy looking around to realize someone was calling his name. </p><p>“Subject Nineteen.” </p><p>At the second call, the boy turned his head around to see who was speaking. A short, gray-haired woman with fancy clothing. Beside her stood Dr. Graves, but he seemed of no interest to talk, only to keep his icy gaze set on the boy. </p><p>“You have been approved of the KD-program of Hydra,” the woman continued. She seemed awfully cold and emotionless. “You’ll be transported to a compound a helicopter ride away from here— I’m sure you’ve been informed about the details already.” </p><p>
  <em> Uh, I haven’t, actually. But who cares? </em>
</p><p>Nineteen wasn’t good at hiding the unease that welled in his guts. There was something awfully unsettling about her, he felt almost as if he had seen her before, but couldn’t quite pinpoint to exactly <em> where</em>. </p><p>“You’ve been a great asset to our studies here, Nineteen.” He looked at the ground as she talked. “Now, you’ll be an even greater asset to the KD-program. Just remember…<em> Hail Hydra. </em>” </p><p>And with that sickening ending, the guards pushed him from his back as a sign for him to walk on. However, he couldn’t get his eyes off Dr. Graves; his curiousity was far too large for his thoughts to not wander. Would he never see the man again now? As in, <em> ever? </em>The thought of that made him smile a little. It was a shame for the man, but Nineteen felt relieved to be free. </p><p>The guards and he arrived at a gigantic entrance, the largest door Nineteen had ever seen in his life. It didn’t match any of the other doors at the compound at all. A male guard strode forward and moved a metal bar around, and with a loud hiss the large wall of a door began to slowly pull apart.</p><p>The first thing that hit him was the strong wind. It howled; sending his hair that had previously been plastered onto his forehead, flying everywhere. It felt like a freshness over his skin and knocked the air out of his lungs, but Nineteen was mesmerized. He stood and looked around in complete wonder, despite the gale raging in the darkness of the night. His eyes were wide with curiosity as he scanned the outside world, not bothered by the harsh rain at all. Even the low temperature sent puffs of frozen air from each exhale he took, but he kept looking around at the darkness of the forest around like this was the first time he had ever seen anything like it— which in fact, it <em> was</em>. </p><p>Was this even real? </p><p>Nineteen wanted to pull away from the guards as they began to push him towards a large, black helicopter just by. He wanted to take in the view of the world, what he never knew had been right outside of his little underground-reality. Even though he could barely see anything at all through the unforgiving storm, this was truly beautiful. It was everything he had dreamt of and more— it was <em> amazing</em>. </p><p>One thing was for sure: Nineteen could live with this outside world. He liked it. A <em> lot</em>.</p><p>Before he knew it, Nineteen was pushed into the helicopter and handcuffed to the wall. The smile of a toddler that had taken over his features was now completely gone, replaced with the anxiety he felt for what was going on around him. The flying vehicle roared to life, slowly but quickly rising to the clouds. He felt his stomach wrench at the fact that he quickly was hundreds of meters above the ground. </p><p>It was a bumpy ride- wherever the hell they were shipping Nineteen off to. Though he of course couldn’t see past the walls, he could hear the rain hammering against the vehicle, and the lightning cracking through the air. It didn’t bother him— not the rain, anyway. His hands were still cuffed together and chained to the wall of the large helicopter. The guard sitting across from him held his weapons in his hands tightly. On his side sat MJ, and it didn’t surprise Nineteen the least that she was coming along for the ride. There were two more guards in the front of the helicopter, Nineteen could hear them talking through the thin metal divider. </p><p>He let out a loud sigh and leaned his head back against the wall of the vehicle. He was tired, there was no doubt about it, but he had to stay awake. He had to know how long this ride was going to take, how long he was going to be locked up. If anything was going to happen to him, he had to stay awake to know exactly what. It was ironic, in a way, considering his past. But there was no way he was sleeping, that was for sure. </p><p>When Nineteen awoke two and a half hours later to a guard shouting his name, he knew he had broken the promise he had given himself. The boy was shaken out of his slumber and roughly shoved out of the vehicle. As if the helicopter wasn’t loud enough in itself, the storm made it a hundred times worse and Nineteen could barely hear the men urging him to walk faster on the asphalt. </p><p>“C’mon, boy!” A man yelled into his ear after he had caught him from crashing to the ground. </p><p>Nineteen gasped and nodded and kept on running. As fast as he could, anyway. His body was close to broken as exhausted as he was, and each step brought a wave of nausea dancing through his body. The wind ripped through his clothes and simply moving forward had never been so difficult before.</p><p>Suddenly the storm came to a complete stop, and Nineteen realized they had arrived inside the compound. The lights were bright and thankfully more welcoming and warm than at his previous home. He didn’t have much time to take in the scenery before he was interrupted.</p><p>“You must be Asset Nineteen,” a voice suddenly said. </p><p>“Welcome to your new life.” </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And there you have it. What do you think is gonna happen next? Leave a comment!</p><p>As always, comments and kudos are appreciated! It can be a simple “thumbs up” or a feedback, perhaps something you’d like to see in this story— anything that gives me motivation and inspiration to write more for you !! ♥️</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>